


What is Infinite?

by MadnessInCreativity



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Ignores King of Scars, Immortality, Length and pacing that would make Tolstoy proud, Post-Book 3: Ruin and Rising, Russian Folklore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27890104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadnessInCreativity/pseuds/MadnessInCreativity
Summary: To destroy the Shadow Fold and end the war, Alina had used merzost and done something never before seen; she gave up her Grisha power to destroy the darkness, to kill the Darkling, and in return she became nothing. Having effectively martyred Sankta Alina, she slipped away into an ordinary, unremarkable life with a boy she loved and no greater calling than being content in a simple otkazatsya life.But the universe, and the power at the making of the world, is infinite. And, as Alina knew, the spark of Grisha power is always there, deep inside. When reaching in and reawakening that light, Alina finds herself tugging on something she'd thought dead, a bond forged by merzost, stretching beyond the barriers of life into the infinite unknown.Set post Ruin and Rising, blatantly ignoring King of Scars.
Relationships: Mal Oretsev/Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov
Comments: 50
Kudos: 116





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After 2+ years of planning and plotting, I finally sat down to write this story for NaNoWriMo 2020. I just about finished part 1, and rather than wait the 3 years it will inevitably take for me to finish writing the whole thing, I decided to start posting pieces now. I appreciate you taking the time to read my writing and musings on the philosophy of immortality while indulging in my love of Slavic folklore. 
> 
> This will be an epic story told in three parts. I'm anticipating 100,000+ words, and 40+ chapters, so strap yourselves in.  
> I will endeavor to post any content warnings in notes at the start of chapters, but otherwise will leave you in peace to enjoy the story without my author notes. 
> 
> Expect new chapters to post on Saturdays.

He was.

There had been nothingness. For how long was currently unknowable, but in this moment, the nothingness was gone, leaving only Him.

The spark of consciousness, the sense of self was all he had though. He knew he had been, before the nothingness descended, but _what_ he had been was still lost. There wasn’t enough of him, not yet. He’d been floating too long, become too scattered in mind and body. He was certain that all he knew and all he was still remained out there somewhere. He would just need to pull himself back together; into whatever Himself was.

As he floated, unaware of the passing of time and space around him, he reached out, trying to regain that innate sense of the pieces that were Himself drifting in space. Faint twinges and tingles would flit across his consciousness, tantalizing his burgeoning awareness. But it was never enough.

A burst of light broke through the all-encompassing darkness, drawing his realization for the first time that he had been in darkness. The light tugged at him, pulling at him like a magnet. He followed this deep-seated sense of attraction, sensed down its path, and found something familiar. He found Himself.

It was small, but it was the most Himself he’d felt since emerging from the darkness. The Him, spread out across the universe, all turned to the light as one, feeling the elemental attraction and the small sense of self at the center. The seed of what he was, and what he would be. He would follow that light to the dark mass of him at the center, and that mingling of Dark and Light would make him whole.


	2. Part I, Chapter 1

The bells in the courtyard of Keramzin sang out, making sure no one was ignorant of the hour. Alina groaned from under the covers of the bed, trying to ignore their peals, even if no one else in this enormous household was of a mind to. Sounds of children shouting seeped through the door, along with the thundering of them running down the hall outside her bedroom as staff members tried corralling them into clean clothes and clean faces. Too much pep and joy for so early in the morning. Never mind that running an orphanage and school meant this was the reality Alina woke to every day – this morning she was tired and grumpy, and not in any mood for being pulled out of bed.

Underneath the racket of children being children, Alina could hear the soft sound of her door being opened and gently closed, and footsteps approaching the bed. There was the scraping of a tray being set on the bedside table before the mattress sunk under the weight of another person.

“Alina,” Mal’s voice called softly, encouraging her to emerge from her blanket cocoon. His large, warm hand started rubbing her back through the fabric, “Alina, it’s time to get up.”

“Why?” her muffled, grumpy voice came from the blankets. “I’m tired. Let me stay in bed.”

“Alina, you can’t,” he sighed, continuing to run his hand soothingly up and down her back, “Not today.”

His words hung in the air, and she remembered.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before pushing aside the comforting shield of the blankets and facing the world. Mal sat there, a wry smile on his handsome face. She pulled herself up to lean against the headboard, and looked over at the tray he had brought in. A cup of strong smelling tea, thick porridge generously dotted with butter and honey, and even a bright, fresh orange.

“Thank you, Mal,” she said sincerely, reaching out to take his hand. He squeezed it back, before frowning and reaching a hand out to cup her cheek. Alina felt his rough fingers lightly sweep over the bags beneath her eyes, feeling the tension in her jaw.

“I felt you tossing and turning all night. Did you get any sleep?” She gave a slight shrug. He sighed and squeezed her hand again. “I wish I could take the nightmares from you.”

“It’s gotten better. You know this time of year is bad for both of us.” He nodded, letting the hand drop from her tired face.

“We don’t have to leave for another hour. Make sure you eat; its going to be a long ceremony this year.” He placed a soft kiss on her forehead, then on her lips before leaving her alone to her breakfast.

Alina took the steaming cup of tea and breathed it in, letting the soothing scents of home and the dappled rays of the sun banish the lingering darkness of her dreams. She reminded herself of the simple pleasure to be had from a hearty breakfast without a hint of herring, of a loving husband who brought her the rare gift of an orange to brighten her morning, of the dozens of rambunctious children who, despite their inability to remain quiet for two moments together, loved and lived and thrived in the home she and Mal had created. This simple, peasant life was hers now, because she had chosen it. Facing the memory of what had come before was a minor trial; nothing more.

She let herself linger over her porridge and fruit a bit longer than probably was wise, still not wanting to face the day. Eventually, with only the sticky juice remaining on her fingers, Alina forced herself out of the bed and set to washing, dressing, and making herself presentable to the world. In the back of their closet was one of her nicer dresses, something fit for a late summer festival. Pulling it out, she ran her fingers over the embroidery – a riot of colorful flowers standing out against the deep indigo of the dress. Quickly, she shrugged the linen blouse on and pulled the dress over the top, smoothing her hands over the fabric folds. Glancing out the window, she grimaced, realizing her time was running short. Hurriedly, she rushed to a mirror and hastily brushed out her hair before twisting the dyed-brown strands into a pair of braids she could twist around and pin to her head. A few wisps escaped, as always, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. She wouldn’t have even bothered putting it up if they weren’t going into town, but today she really didn’t want to give anyone further reason to look at her.

As satisfied as she was likely to be, Alina, exited the sanctuary of her bedroom and into the boisterous halls of Keramzin. The voices had all migrated downstairs, where Alina herself slowly descended. She saw Mal near the door, talking to one of the staff, though her descent caught his eye and he shot her an appreciative glance. Her lips turned up in return, cocking an eyebrow at him and causing a grin to spread across his face. The teacher he’d been speaking to followed his gaze and saw Alina descending the steps.

“Ah, Mistress Anastasia, good morning,” she said brightly in greeting, “We’re just getting all the children ready to head into town.”

“Thank you, Kseniya,” Alina responded, coming to stand next to Mal, “I appreciate you taking charge this morning.”

“I’m happy to help, ma’am.”

“Maksim and Yevgeniy have gotten carts ready,” another staff person had poked their head in through the front door to deliver their message to Kseniya before noticing Alina and Mal. They gave a gave a deep nod of acknowledgement. “Master Matvey, Mistress Anastasia.”

“Good morning Stepan. Thank you for letting us know,” Mal replied. “Shall we wrangle all the little monsters out and into town?” Kseniya nodded, and the three, with the help of several other staff members loaded all three dozen or so of their charges, along with the rest of the staff into the three waiting horse carts, and started making their way down the worn road.

There had always been a village near Keramzin; a natural growth of people who had depended on and made their living from the dukes Keramsov for generation after generation. The population had dwindled over the past century as war with Shu Han moved closer and more of the peasants had been forced into service of the First Army, leaving fewer able bodied people to tend the crops, build homes and create large, prosperous families. But since the ascension of Tsar Nikolai, with his attempts at brokering peace with the Shu, more young people were returning from military service and were able to start building lives in town. And the new young master and mistress of Keramzin, with their strange connections to the capitol of Os Alta, brought their own kind of prosperity with them.

The large funds Nikolai granted them had helped Alina and Mal convince many of the locals to help rebuild the burnt-out manor after the war, and then paid the local populace to continue providing grain, fresh meat and milk, clothing, toys, and all the necessities to care for the small army of orphaned children who had found their way to Keramzin. Not to mention the visitors who descended from the capitol at least once a year, and the regular lines of communication back and forth that helped to make the area around Keramzin grow from a small village into a town of some small importance, growing greater with the passing years.

That growth and burgeoning prosperity always brought gladness to Alina when she went into town. This rustic, stable life for the people of Ravka had been what she hoped for as she trained, fought, and forged alliances. It was a good reminder to see today as her heart felt anxious and heavy, heading into the center of town and stopping the carts outside the large church yard.

All of the residents of the town were making their way to the Church of Sankta Agnessa. Many nodded or spoke greetings to the Master and Mistress of Keramzin, as they pulled up with the assorted residents of the manor house. All of the children were helped down from the carts and led past Kseniya for final inspection of their hair or straightening of their blouses as they followed the leading adults into the church.

“You ready?” Mal whispered into Alina’s ear. She took a deep breath and forced a smile on her face. She took his hand and, after he gave her a reassuring squeeze, they made their way into the church.

It took another quarter of an hour for everyone in the town to come in and settle before the priest stepped up to the lectern, causing a hush to fall over the cheerful whispers filling the pews. He gave a smile to the assembled crowd and raised his arms in prayer.

“We are gathered here on this day to celebrate and remember. Celebrate the destruction of the Shadow Fold and the banishment of Darkness from Ravka by Sankta Alina’s martyrdom. For eight years, Ravka has been free of the darkness that strangled our people and blinded our rulers. Through Sankta Alina’s sacrifice, our beloved Tsar, Nikolai, was given the chance to rule honestly, with open eyes and an open heart. And as her final blessing, she gave us the Solnyshko, her children, gifted with her Light to continue defending Ravka.

“Today, we honor the sacrifice of Sankta Alina, the Sol Koroleva, and remember those who fought beside her. We celebrate the freedom she gave us and the prosperity we enjoy now by her hand. Please join me to raise our voices in Thanksgiving on this blessed day of remembrance.”

The church filled with the voices of an entire town, singing the praises of the fallen saint, the lost Sun Summoner who had given so much in her short life. All but the voices of the Master and Mistress of Keramzin. Alina clung tightly to Mal’s hand, trying to push down the tears, the bile, the anxious discomfort this yearly event created in her. Hearing her name spoken as if it was something divine, something beyond mortal knowing made her shudder and want to scream. It sounded so clean and simple coming from the priest’s mouth, so false and sanitary. Nothing like the terror of being hunted, the screams of pain and agony from her comrades in arms, the smell of blood spilling on the sands of the Fold, all of the true sensations and actions that had led to that final conflict. And most of all, sounding nothing like the real people at the center of the story – a young girl, struggling to master herself and her powers, and the lonely man who had lost himself in his own darkness.

Mal pulled her closer to his side, letting them take comfort in each other as the congregation around them sang and celebrated and gave thanks. It was for them, Alina reminded herself, squeezing her eyes shut to the spectacle around her. All of it had been for them, so they could celebrate this peace. And for the man beside her, so they could live a normal life.

The two clung to each other throughout the service, doing their best to control their thoughts and emotions, but unable to hold in a sigh of relief when the priest gave his final blessing and released his congregants. They helped shepherd the children into the wave of people pouring out the church doors and into the streets, where the true celebrations would begin. It didn’t take long for the town to set up a long procession of tables in the middle of the street, groaning under the weight of food prepared and shared by every household. People sat amongst friends and neighbors, laughing as they shared stories and dishes. The many children of Keramzin gleefully stuffed their faces with all the special treats, before retreating to street games with the town children under the indulgent eyes of their caretakers. After seeming hours of feasting, a balalaika was produced, followed by a fiddle and a domra, and even a flute, and then the dancing started.

Several of the children ran up to Alina, and tugged on her skirts, begging for a dance. Laughing, she followed them out and held their small hands as they danced in circles with other townsfolk and children, twirling and kicking their feet to the rhythm.

“I think this next dance is mine,” Mal’s voice said from behind her, and she turned happily to take his arms and swing into the dance. They spun and spun, making Alina pink and giddy, giggling to see the look on her husband’s face. The song ended and everyone clapped, calling for more.

The celebrations went on for hours, pausing only to light lanterns and bonfires as dusk descended. The younger children started to droop, and with a quick word from Alina to Kseniya, they started to round up the Keramzin residents into the carts to head back home. There were some cries of dismay from the older children, but all came without too much cajoling, ensuring they all made it back to Keramzin before night claimed the sky.

Alina and Mal assisted with putting all the children to bed, undressing the littlest ones who were nodding off where the stood, and gently reminding the older ones to put their clothes away in their drawers and don’t even think of forgetting to brush your teeth before you get into bed. Finally, with the house quieted and all the children tucked away, Alina and Mal bid good night to their staff and made their way to their own bed chamber.

Behind closed doors, they undressed and cleaned their faces, before slipping beneath the covers and holding each other.

“We survived another year.” Alina said wryly, making Mal laugh and pull her closer.

“It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Well, there was that bout of food poisoning among all the children, back in February. I thought that might end me, cleaning up all that vomit.”

“Very funny. I meant today.”

“Oh.” Alina said, as if she hadn’t realized that’s what he’d meant all along, as if she hadn’t been deflecting with a sarcastic comment. She thought it over for a few moments before replying.

“It hasn’t gotten easier, hearing them talk about me like that. About what we all went through. None of you are mentioned. It’s like they think I went in and did it all myself, then ascended into heaven without a spot on me.”

Mal held her close to his chest, letting her rest her head over his heart to hear its steady thumping.

“It could’ve ended so differently, Mal. And most of the time, I can forget that. But then, every year, I have to relive it again. And I hate it.”

“I know,” he said soothingly, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “I know.” They held each other close, never letting go as they fell into sleep.

_The battlefield was littered with bodies, and the sound of wings bombarded her ears. Alina looked around, horrified, as people with no faces fought the nichevoya, hacking against them with flaming swords and axes. She called out, trying to tell them to flee, that nothing could stand up to those creatures of darkness, but the words would not come._

_She saw Mal, in the middle of it, spinning, hacking, jabbing, attacking anything that got close to him. He blazed with his sword, a holy pillar of flame fighting against the darkness. But it was not enough. The nichevoya were too many, and he wouldn’t be able to stand for long._

_“Will you stop it?” a voice murmured in her hear, and she spun around to face her tormentor._

_“Call them off! Stop them!” she demanded, waving an arm over the carnage. He only shook his head, his expression impassive._

_“I can not Alina.”_

_“You made them! This is your darkness! Stop it!”_

_“I made them for you, to counter you. Only you have the power to stop them.” She shook her head frantically._

_“I don’t have my powers anymore! You took them!”_

_“I took nothing from you, Alina.”_

_“I can’t fight them anymore! I lost my light.” She glared up at him, frustration and helplessness radiating through her body._

_“Your dark swallowed my light,” she said in a soft, defeated tone. Then she heard the barest whisper of a sound as he reached into his kefta, before he grasped her wrist, and gently placed something into her hand. A knife._

_“Like calls to like. Only you have the power to stop this.” With his cool hand still clasped around her wrist, he gently guided her hand that was loosely clutching the knife, leading it to his chest and resting the point just below his sternum._

_“Will you do it, Alina? Do you have the will to stop this?” he murmured, keeping his steely gaze fixed on her. She stared back, hearing the sounds of battle behind her; all around her the screams of the faceless people, the shrieks of the nichevoya. She was certain she trembled, but the knife stayed steady in her hand._

_“I –“_

_The knife slid home. She felt the Darkling’s hand still encircling her wrist, while their eyes stayed locked on each other. His blood flowed down the blade, coating their hands, running down her arm, and soaking into the front of her kefta. Slowly, as his life force dribbled out, he leaned down, further into the knife, and placed a kiss on Alina’s temple._

_“Do you believe me now, Alina? Will you embrace your power?”_

Alina woke with a scream. She scrambled up, throwing off the bedding to stare at her hands, her arms, scrubbing at them to remove the non-existent blood. Mal stirred beside her, groggily pushing himself up to look at her.

“Alina? Alina, are you okay?”

She drew in a strangled breath, nearly choking on the air as it entered her lungs.

“Alina,” Mal reached out a hand, gently pulling her round to look at him. “Look at me. You’re okay. Just breathe. Okay? Look at me and breathe.”

She focused on his face, the feel of his hands in hers, struggling to gain control over her body. Slowly, with Mal continuing to whisper encouragement and support, the shaking in her hands stilled and her breathing became more regular. Feeling in control again, she gave him a shaky smile, earning a reassuring squeeze in return.

“Was it the battle? On the Fold?”

She nodded, unable to speak yet. In the ensuing years, they’d both had nightmares enough of that final struggle. It was near enough to the substance of her nightmare to feel like she wasn’t truly lying to Mal.

“Come here,” he said sleepily, pulling her down to the mattress, and drawing her into his arms. Slowly, her breathing achieved a normal pace as her heart slowed again to regular, rhythmic beating. She could feel Mal’s heart, beating in sync with hers, and he gently rubbed her back.

“Its okay.” He murmured to her from the safety of their blankets, “It’s okay. I’m here. We’re both here.”

Alina froze. Those words of comfort, words they had whispered to each other in the dark many times, were a reminder that they’d both survived. But this time, it wasn’t Mal’s death that had forced her screams.


	3. Part I, Chapter 2

Alina’s sleep remained plagued for weeks and weeks. The annual cycle of nightmares around the anniversary of the Fold was to be expected, even as the intensity and number had decreased for both Alina and Mal with the passing of time. But it wasn’t nightmares now that plagued her sleep. It was return of a soft, cool voice speaking uncomfortable truths; a cold, pale face looking at her with anger, with curiosity, with want.

Trying to forget the shadow lurking in her thoughts, Alina threw herself fully into the business of autumn and harvest time. The apple orchard she and Mal had planted, wanting to bring life to a landscape that had been scarred and burnt by war, had grown beyond their imaginings, gifting the residents of Keramzin and their neighbors with near unending fresh fruit. The nearby farms had done well with the peace, and some of the older children went to learn how to thresh and harvest, earning their own wages and gaining knowledge of a way of life that didn’t involve guns and marching and war. Alina herself took little gaggles of eager artists out with her to try painting and sketching the changing landscapes, while Mal would lead expeditions into the woods, teaching the practical tracking skills he still retained.

When the weather turned colder and the trees changed colors, the children loved nothing more than running out and flinging themselves into piles of fallen leaves. Alina would frequently sneak them away from lessons to frolic freely in the autumn air, much to the dismay of the teachers at Keramzin. She’d overheard Kseniya more than once having to calm the assistant teacher Anya, as she complained about the impossibility of teaching under such conditions. But hearing the laughter of the orphans, her adopted children, fill every corner of Keramzin made it all worthwhile, and made sure that at least Alina’s waking moments were bright and glad.

The crisp air and falling leaves gave way to biting chill and falling snow. As had happened every year, the children cried out at the first sign of snow, running to find Mister Matvey. He would instantly cancel all lessons and lead all the children outside to frolic and welcome the oncoming winter.

Mal tried to coax Alina outside to join him in their playing, and only the chorus of begging voices from many of the children, already outside catching flakes on their tongues, convinced her to join them. But only for a few moments, she swore. Bundled in her thickest wool coat and sturdy leather boots, she stepped out into the falling whiteness, clutching her gloved hands tight to her chest, trying to hold in her heat.

“Shivering already? You just got outside.” Mal laughed at her. She merely glared at him from under her fur-lined hat, and focused on rubbing her hands briskly together.

“Miss Anastasia, Miss Anastasia!” one of the younger girls cried, running up to her, “Come help us make snow angels!”

Helplessly, she was drug along to where some of the children were falling backwards into the light dusting of white, happily flapping their arms and legs to make shapes in snow. Despite her protests, she found herself on her back as well, flapping her limbs to the delight of her watchers. She was next tugged into helping to build snow piles as the flakes came down more thickly, and eventually pack those piles into snow men and snow maidens. But she finally called it when the snowballs started to fly.

“Alright, I’m done!” She announced, stepping back with hands raised in surrender. One had already flown right by her head, and she would not stick around to be pelted in the face with snow.

“Aww, c’mon Miss Anastasia! We’re just having fun.”

“And you can keep having fun out here with Mister Matvey.”

“Coward,” Mal called at her from across the yard. She merely stuck her tongue out at him before turning and entering the house.

“Kseniya!” she called from the entry way, where she was stomping the packed snow off her boots. Her coat was off, and she was wiping the partially melted ice from its shoulders when the woman arrived, looking somewhat disapproving of the snowy mess being made. Alina grimaced in response.

“I know, I know. We’ll need to start bringing in some of the younger ones in fifteen minutes or so, before they get too cold. Could you ask the kitchen to start heating up some hot chocolate for everyone? And warn Anya, Yevgeniy and Darya that we’ll probably need some extra hands to get all of the children out of their winter gear.”

“Yes, ma’am” Kseniya sighed. “I’m sure they’ll be expecting it.”

“Let them know they can have extra free time tonight – Matvey and I will watch all of the children after dinner.”

Kseniya gave a nod and turned off to start preparing the troops for the army of snow children that would soon be banging down the front door. Alina did her best to stifle a laugh before heading the opposite direction, to the small, south-facing parlor that was reserved just for her and Mal. It was outfitted with two plump, if faded, couches, a bright wood writing desk, and several shelves filled with books and odd treasures collected from the former days of Keramzin, and substantially added to by their friends from Os Alta. The southern windows ensured that this room, as long as the sun shone, would be brightly lit with golden light; a soothing balm when Alina felt the ache of not being able to make her own.

Plopping on the couch, Alina let herself sprawl across the whole length. The mild winter sun helped warm her frozen toes, and she found herself idly twirling her fingers through the beams, feeling the light in her palm. Drowsily, she drank the sun in through her skin, remembering the feel of it flowing inside her, not noticing when she slipped from consciousness to dreaming.

_She huddled into herself, trying to warm her extremities against the cold. All around her was frozen white, a stark beauty that leeched the heat from her skin._

_“Stupid winter,” she muttered through chattering teeth, stomping her feet. If only she had something to warm her; a crackling fire, a heavy fur coat, or another body to huddle against._

_She looked around, hoping to spot something, anything that would protect her from the cold. Turning in slow circles, she saw nothing over and over, until a burst of golden light erupted in front of her._

_“Oh!” It was like a small sun, shining beautiful and warm. She extended a hand, and could feel the heat coming off it in her palms. This was exactly what she had needed! Reaching out, she moved to grab the radiant ball, but it darted away._

_Scowling, Alina reached out again, but it retreated, just up and out of reach. Once more she made to grab it, and again it darted away._

_“Stop that,” she growled at the light, frowning as it pulsed merrily a few feet away, washing her in waves of heat and buttery yellow light. Now she was determined._

_But the light was tricky, and kept dancing away from her, forcing her to chase it around the white space. She was huffing and panting, exerting all her energies to jump or dash or do whatever it took to catch that luminous sprite. Meanwhile, the cold crept in closer, caressing her arms with its icy fingers._

_"Stop,” she called to the light, practically sobbing now from frustration and the cold, “Please, just stay still!”_

_She took another leap, and the ball rose up past her fingertips, slowly rising higher and higher above her, taking its warmth with it._

_"No! No, please!” she cried, falling to her knees with exhaustion. “I need you! Please, come back.”_

_The ball of light drifted higher and higher, until it was caught by a tendril of shadow. The light pulsed in the shadow’s grip, which in turn spread out and formed a net, catching the light around all sides. The shadow net was pulled down and down, until it was level with a man’s chest. He reached out his ebony-clad arms and pulled the ball of light from the shadow-net. The light shone brightly against his pale hands and deep black garments._

_Alina watched as he approached her, wary of his soft foot fall, until he crouched down a few feet away from her. He looked at her a moment, before turning back to the ball of light, turning it over in his hands with consideration._

_“That’s mine,” she whispered._

_“Is it?” His voice was soft and sharp._

_“Please give it back.”_

_He fixed his eyes on her, holding her gaze with his. “It is not mine to give.”_

_Before she could protest, he held the luminous, wondrously warm and golden ball of light out to her, balancing it his hand._

_"It is yours to take, Alina.”_

“Alina.”

She started on hearing her name, jerking up and smacking Mal square in the chin with her forehead.

“Ow,” she moaned, rubbing her head, before seeing her husband similarly grimacing on the floor. “Oh saints, Mal, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just remembering how hard-headed you are.”

“Very funny,” she retorted, all feelings of remorse fleeing on seeing Mal’s stupid grin. “Maybe I need to remind you more often.”

“Is that anyway to talk to the wonderful man who brought you freshly made hot chocolate and cinnamon cake?”

“Hmm, I guess not. We’ll call a truce for now.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

Mal took the time to serve them both, pouring out the thick, rich hot chocolate into their tea cups, and slicing of portions of cinnamon tea cake, still warm from the oven. Alina took her cup and plate, breathing in deeply the comforting smells. The first sip was divine.

“I take it back, you’re wholly forgiven.”

“Well, now that I know it’s that easy.”

“You’re just lucky your handsome.”

“How else could I have gotten such a wonderful wife?” He leaned over and placed a warm, loving kiss on her lips. Alina leaned into it, happily meeting his playful mood. After a few moments, they parted, smiles on both their faces.

“Thank you for coming out to join us in the snow. The children really appreciated it.”

“They get one snow day a year from me.”

“Aww, not even for Sankt Nikolai’s day?” Mal’s face turned into a comically exaggerated pout, forcing a laugh from Alina.

“They’ll have three new adults to torment and drag into the snow with them while I stay indoors with toasty warm feet and hands.”

“You say that like Zoya will actually come out and throw snowballs with the kids.”

“Stranger things have happened.” Alina remarked, taking a sip from her hot chocolate to hide her grin. Mal rolled his eyes, flopping back to the other side of the couch, taking up his own cup and cake to cover his lack of a comeback. She flashed a real grin then, triumphant and content.

Midwinter brought the favored feast of Sankt Nikolai, and with it, the Master and Mistress of Keramzin’s Grisha visitors from Os Alta. The staff and folk in the nearby town had become accustomed to the annual visit from these strange, beautiful creatures of the Capitol, while the children didn’t know enough of how Ravka used to be to find anything unusual about it. All they knew was that Miss Genya was beautiful and would braid their hair, Mister David was strange, but quick to show them fantastic new ways to destroy their toys, and Miss Zoya tried to pretend she was too grown-up for them, all the while sneaking sweets from her kefta pockets. They might have some sort of magic too, like in the stories of Grisha from Miss Anastasia’s fantastical books, but if they did, it wasn’t as special as presents and cake.

Alina rejoiced in the time spent with her old friends, learning about their efforts to recruit Grisha from around the world, of the soirees and fetes they were required to attend as the Grisha Triumverate, of their beloved Tsar’s attempts to reshape Ravka into something greater for all people who lived in it. At night, when the children went to bed, they would relive days and battles gone over many shared bottles of kvas, and Alina felt her sleep was less plagued, and more gifted with soft memories of a life she had once lived.

And then, the night of the Winter Solstice, she dreamed again.

_Around her was a raging storm of sound and color. The cries of children, the shouts of military commanders, the false laughter of courtiers filled her ears, peppered with gunshots and boiling tea kettles. Swirling red, blue and purple of kefta waltzed around her, while the gray and brown homespun of the peasantry, some glinting with the gold of her Sun badge, leapt and twirled in the background._

_"Sankta, bless us with your light!” the voices called._

_“Summon for us, Sun Summoner. Its what you’re here for.”_

_"I’m scared of the monsters – don’t let them eat me.”_

_"Share your gift, don’t be selfish!”_

_“I can’t”, Alina started to protest, as the words bore down on her and the bodies pressed closer._

_“Ravka’s saviour! Help us!”_

_“Give us your light!”_

_"We need your blessing!”_

_Hands picked and pulled at her skin, reaching in and pulling out ribbons of gold. Alina cried, trying desperately to grasp the strands._

_“Stop! You’re taking it all! Stop it!”_

_“GIVE US YOUR LIGHT! GIVE US YOUR LIGHT!”_

_And then all the sound stopped. A wave of darkness crashed down, deafening the demands and swallowing the greedy grasping hands. Alina was left in the center, gasping around her tears, golden ribbons strewn about her._

_A new sound entered her perception, a soft footfall approaching. Slowly, Alina started to unfold from her crouch, rising to her feet even as she kept her shoulders hunched and arms wrapped protectively around her. The footsteps stopped directly in front of her, and for several moments all she could hear was the even, steady breathing of another._

_“Alina.”_

_She flinched before slowly raising her eyes to look in his face. It was free of scars, once again that perfectly smooth face, made of marble cut in sharp planes. He gazed at her, his expression frustratingly neutral. They stared, and stared, and stared._

_“Alina,” he spoke her name, and it sounded pitying._

_"Don’t!” she barked out, “I can’t – I can’t do it. I can’t give anymore. So don’t even try.”_

_He looked at her, and she felt humiliated by the pity in his gaze._

_"Alina,” he spoke again, but his voice became gentler, more tender. He slowly reached a hand towards her, not pausing when she recoiled, “My power is your power. We are equals.”_

_His words were matched by a continued slow movement towards her, and Alina felt his fingers brush over the back of her hand. She shuddered, but didn’t stop him as the contact continued. Softly, deliberately, he trailed his fingers up her hand, bringing his palm to rest on the back of her wrist._

_“You need me, as I need you. I will be your balance.”_

_His fingers encircled her wrist, and Alina felt the universe explode inside her. Light rushed through her, and the gold ribbons flared up, wrapping themselves around her before sinking into her skin, turning her into a golden idol. She could feel the power of her light, the making at the heart of the universe flow through her, warming every cell and making every fiber sing in ecstasy._

_Gradually she came to herself again, breathing out contentedly as she opened her eyes. Her skin glowed, casting light onto the Darkling and meeting the shadows that swirled around him._

_“Thank you,” she said, and he gave a wry smirk. Alina could feel his hand loosen from her wrist and trail up her arm, over her shoulder, and up to her throat. He possessively cupped the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him._

_“Everything that is yours is mine, and mine is yours. The powerless will try to rip pieces away from you for themselves, but everything we take from each other just balances the scales between us. We are the same.”_

_They stayed gazing at each other, coming no closer, nor pulling away. Alina could see her light reflecting in his eyes, and was sure he saw his shadows in hers._

With a start, her eyes flew open. Eyes darting around wildly, she took in her bedchamber; everything in its place, and Mal sleeping comfortably beside her. The half-moon dappled the floor in silver light, piercing the gloom and brightening the shadows.

Alina closed her eyes, drawing in a few slow, calming breaths. It had all been a dream. But one she found herself longing to return to.

No. No, he had been a tyrant, a murderer, a person who used others to get what he wanted, and who would cut down any obstacles between him and power. A man who had tried to seduce her and destroy her to get what he wanted. Who had tricked her into pursuing the pathways to immense power. A man who had suffered countless lifetimes of abuse and fear, and had lashed out in his own deliberate, delayed revenge. A brilliant boy who had not wanted to be alone anymore. He had been all of that, and so much more that Alina had never had the chance to know.

Casting a wary glance at Mal, Alina slipped out from under the blankets, and tiptoed across the floor of their room to her set of drawers. Small bits of jewelry and mementos were tucked inside, nestled between a variety of scarves, socks, and other loose odds and ends. And buried in the back was a small leather pouch that Alina had purposefully buried away, out of sight and out of mind.

A cautious peek over her shoulder showed Mal still fast asleep, unaware of her absence. Alina closed the drawer, pouch in hand, and moved closer to the window and the bright moonlight. Sitting on the windowsill, she opened the drawstring, and pulled out a folded sheaf of paper. Haltingly, she pulled at the folds, opening the paper parcel up, revealing the treasure she’d tried to erase from her mind.

It was a shorn lock of raven black hair.

“Aleksander,” Alina whispered, letting herself remember his face as she had last seen it, in the peaceful repose of death. The burning had been intended to obliterate his memory from the earth – no grave to desecrate, no trophies to display. But she had been unable to stop herself from collecting this small relic for her own penance and remembrance.

“I miss you,” she admitted, barely letting her words rise above a breath. No one else would, but no one else had known him like Alina had. No one else had been gifted with giving a name to the monster.

A ghost of smile rose on Alina’s face as she reached out to brush the silky strands. The moment her fingertips connected she felt it – a spark deep inside her, a call echoing from the depths, begging to be pulled to the surface.

Alina gasped, and almost dropped the paper in her shock. This couldn’t – it had felt like – like back then. Smaller, but there.

Glancing furtively back at Mal, who had not seemed to have woken at her cry, Alina hunched back over the paper with the miraculous relic inside. Could it still have his power? Could _she_ still have-?

Taking in a deep breath, Alina reached out again, and grasped the illicit lock of hair in her fingers. It was there, she could feel it! That call resonating through her, the smallest ember of power burning deep inside her. Her light was in there. And once again, the Darkling had been the one to bring it out of her. Like calling to like.


	4. Part I, Chapter 3

Alina sat in the windowsill for hours, clutching the Darkling’s stolen lock of hair between her fingers. She’d experimented, and while she could still feel the faintest flicker of her powers without it, holding the strands was liking blowing on a dying ember, breathing life into her veins. When the dawn started to peek above the horizon, she was still sitting there, lightly running her thumb over the silky strands in her hand.

“Alina?”

She started at the sound of Mal’s voice, thick with sleep. She could hear him rustling around in the bed, no doubt reaching over for her. Quickly, Alina folded her precious relic back in to the paper and stuffed it into the leather pouch, trying to ignore the pang of longing as the light inside her dimmed again. But it was still there, no matter how faint. Her power was still there.

“Alina?”

“I’m here,” she called back softly, hiding the pouch underneath her nightshirt. Shifting her gaze back out the window and to the rising sun, Alina could hear Mal disentangle himself from the sheets and make his way over to her.

“Why are you up so early?” he asked, leaning down to plant a kiss on the crown of her head. She shrugged in response, shifting to look up at him.

“I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“More nightmares?” he asked with concern. He perched across from her on the windowsill and took her hands in his. “You’ve been having them a lot more, recently. Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, squeezing his hand back, “Just more memories flooding back than usual.”

“I’m so sorry, Alina.”

“They’re not all bad, you know. There were good moments.”

“Really? In between running for our lives?” Mal quirked an eyebrow at her, prompting a roll of her eyes in return. “Was it the time we crashed Nikolai’s crazy flying machine out of the Fold? Or when we were working in the jurda factory in Novyi Zem?”

“You know there was more than that. Us dancing that night at the Inn in Caryeva. Spending time with Nikolai and the crew of the Volkvolny. Training with Botkin. Nights in the banya with the other Grisha at the Little Palace.”

Mal gave a grunt and an insincere smile. “I think you were probably having more fun at those times than I was.”

“It was always more fun when you were there,” Alina said soothingly, swiping her thumb gently back and forth across the back of his hand. “And I’m not saying that I wish I was back there, just that there were moments of happiness. There had to be, or we wouldn’t have had the will to fight on together.”

Mal smiled a bit more sincerely, seemingly soothed by her words. He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers

“Every moment with you has made all the bad moments worth it,” he whispered fervently, making a slight blush rise on Alina’s cheeks. He leaned in for a kiss, which quickly became heated and needy. Alina threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him in closer as he leaned into her, pushing them back into the windowsill.

“The children won’t be up for at least another hour,” he said huskily, “Why don’t we go back to bed?”

“Definitely. I could use some extra sleep,” Alina replied, giving a fake yawn. Mal grunted, unamused, before sweeping her roughly up in his arms. Alina alternated between laughs and kisses as he carried her back to their rumpled bed.

The spark stayed alive, deep in her chest. It was a faint fluttering underneath her heart, a reminder that even if she couldn’t call the light at this moment, she was still a Sun Summoner. At nights, when Mal was asleep, she would pull out the leather pouch from its hidden place in her chest of drawers and hold the Darkling’s hair between her fingers. In the moonlight, Alina would hold out her palm and try to summon the sun that always remained agonizingly out of her grasp. When she touched the lock of hair though, she could feel the light reaching out to answer his call, slowly stretching and growing.

Perhaps the act of merzost had drained her well of light, and without her amplifiers she couldn’t reach out into the universe for more. Or maybe it had always been there, just buried again, as she had buried it once before. In that horrible moment on the Fold, she had wanted nothing more than to be a normal girl again, a girl who would be able to live a normal life with a boy she had always loved. Perhaps using merzost had granted that wish. But now that she had tasted Grisha power again, she couldn’t stop the longing to have it back.

It almost seemed as if the Darkling knew what she was doing from beyond the grave, and was smirking his secret smile. He visited her dreams more often, sometimes a villain, sometimes a support, and sometimes just a silent sentinel, watching whatever unfolded in her mind. She didn’t dare tell Mal of how often she woke with the memory of his breath against her skin or words in her ears. Just as she didn’t dare tell him about her nocturnal exercises. His feelings about her Grisha powers had been complicated at the best of times, and she didn’t want to provoke an argument when there was still nothing to fight over.

So Alina went on with her days, nurturing and coaxing her little light in secret as she carried on her duties as mistress of Keramzin and honorary mother to many. The spring passed in a haze of lengthening days, interspersed between heavy, dreary rains and bright, sunny days that beckoned everyone into the outdoors. The teachers shook their heads in frustration at the master and mistress, who were just as likely to lead the children of Keramzin out to frolick in the fields on a warm day as cosset them with warm cocoa and stories on cold ones. No matter the depth of her nighttime yearnings, Alina always found contentment in her days.

The passing of spring also brought the movement of Ravka’s armies through the country, as they were recalled to Os Alta, or deployed to new postings. The town near Keramzin was not on the Tsar’s roads, but it was near enough to the Shu Han border that it wasn’t completely unprecedented for a military contingent to pass through on their deployment. There was always excitement when part of the army passed through, as townsfolk clamored for news of their loved ones, conscripted into other battalions, or for some scrap of news about the capitol.

On one of her trips into town, Alina happened to arrive shortly after one such troop had arrived. The buzz of excitement was palpable as she rode in with a few of the children who had been allowed to join her as a reward for their good behavior. Stepan pulled the cart to a halt near the town center, and she could see a group of twenty or so First Army soldiers milling around, looking relaxed and chatting with the curious townsfolk. But Alina’s breath caught when she caught sight of achingly familiar blue and crimson silks.

“Are those Grisha?” Galina exclaimed from her side, looking excitedly over at the colorful kefta blossoming among the drab gray and brown uniforms.

"I’ve never seen Grisha before!” Arkady added excitedly, jumping to his feet to see better over the crowd.

“You see Grisha every midwinter,” Alina laughed, “Or have you forgotten your devotion to Miss Zoya?”

Arkady blushed a little but held firm.

“Well, Miss Zoya, Miss Genya and Mister David are different. They’re your friends. These are real Grisha!”

“Do you think they’d show us their powers?” Sabina asked excitedly, tugging on Alina’s sleeve, “Miss Zoya never wants to show us how her wind works.”

“Well, Miss Zoya also doesn’t believe in fun,” Alina agreed with a smile. “We can go up and see if they’d be willing to speak to you.”

The Grisha she’d been trained alongside would probably never have deigned to speak to a gaggle of otkazat’sya, tutored as they were to think themselves above everyone else. But Genya had told to her about Nikolai’s attempts to integrate the First and Second Army in their training and exercises, and the Grisha Triumverate’s decision to carry forward her mandates to mix the Orders of Grisha more in their training and living situations. Alina hoped that the memory of her, a simple otkazat’sya orphan who had risen to be leader of the Second Army, and who worked with Grisha, soldiers and peasants alike, would help keep the new Grisha more humble.

The trio of children skipped excitedly ahead of her, entering the buzzing square. Alina gave nods of recognition to many of the townsfolk who were also there enjoying the spectacle, but didn’t stop to chat. Galina, Arkady and Sabina rushed up to a couple of Grisha in achingly familiar blue robes, drawing the attention of the two summoners.

“Um, excuse me,” Arkady began, stammering a little as he saw the woman in the duo turn to look at him.

“Yes?” she said politely, but without malice.

“Um, well, I was – we were -“

“Can you show us your powers.” Sabina interjected, always bold and fearless, “We’ve never seen Grisha do magic before.”

“We can certainly show you,” the male Grisha said with a smile, crouching down to meet Sabina’s height. His dark skin spoke of Zemeni heritage, and Alina wondered when he’d come to Ravka. Was he one of the many who’d arrived after Nikolai's ascension, hoping that this new Ravka would also mean a new haven for Grisha?

“But its not magic that we do,” his companion said, her brown hair warmed to honey in the sun. “It is the small science, that lets us manipulate the smallest bits of nature.”

“Can you show us?” Galina piped in, looking eagerly between the two. The man shared an amused look with his companion before standing upright and stretching his arms. Alina could see the silver embroidery standing out on his kefta and braced herself for a Squaller’s winds.

With his hands shoulder width apart, he paused a moment in concentration, then shot his arms up, bringing a great gust of wind with it. Drawing his arms to the side, the wind rushed across the children’s faces, making them gasp with excitement. Next, he twisted his hands around each other, causing the wind to maneuver its way between the three of them, tickling their faces and flicking their hair. They laughed in delight, reaching out to feel the wind pass by them. In a final flourish, the Squaller sent the wind rushing up into the sky, creating a boom as it all collapsed in itself.

“That was amazing!” Sabina shouted, and the other two joined her in clapping for the Squaller’s display. He flashed a brilliant white smile and took a little bow for his enthralled audience.

“Is that what Miss Zoya does, Miss Anastasia?” Galina asked, looking back at Alina. The name caught the attention of the two Grisha, and they looked at her with a certain respect, “Why doesn’t she ever show us? That was awesome!”

"Do you know General Nazyalenksy?” the female summoner asked. Alina gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. “Then, are you Grisha?”

“Naw, Miss Anastasia’s boring, like us,” Arkady piped in before Alina could answer, “Miss Zoya just comes for Sankt Nikolai’s day every year with Miss Genya and Mister David. But they _never_ show us anything like that.”

“Are you from Keramzin?” the Squaller asked.

“Yes. My husband and I run the orphanage there.”

"Our lieutenant has a letter for you. General Safin had asked us to deliver it when we came through this area.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Alina exclaimed, a happy smile lighting her face. “Where is your lieutenant?”

“I believe she’s with the First Army sergeant. I can take you to them if you like.”

“Please, if you don’t mind. Come, Arkady, Galina, Sabina. We have things we need to do here in town.”

“But we didn’t get to see her science,” Galina protested, pointing to the female Grisha. Looking away from Alina and back to the lady in blue, Galina begged, “Can you please show us? Before we have to leave?”

"I can, though I warn you, it doesn’t show up as well during midday.”

 _What could she be talking about?_ Alina wondered for a moment, taking in for the first time the gold embroidery bordering the edges of the female Summoners kefta. The children watched with bated breath as the woman spread her arms, and then brought her hands together in a sharp clap. Light exploded from her hands and lit up her face, even with the competition of the sun overhead. The children gasped with delight and jumped about excitedly at the display, but Alina felt a twisting in gut and squeeze in her chest. This woman was one of hers. A Solnyshko.

The light died down, and the Sun Summoner smiled down at the children fondly.

“I’m glad you enjoyed that. Now go with your teacher and be good for her.”

A chorus of promises rose from the trio, and they turned to follow Alina and the Squaller, faces bright with excitement and happily sharing their versions of what they just saw.

“Children aren’t always so excited to see us,” the Squaller commented as they walked to the other side of the square, “Despite the Tsar’s edicts, some small villages still see us as witches or heretics in league with the former Darkling.”

“Well, they do see Grisha every winter,” Alina replied, trying to pull herself back into the conversation, and not look back at the Sun Summoner.

“Yes, they are very fortunate to be on such intimate terms with Generals Nazyalensky, Safin and Kostyk. I thought when we were told to deliver a message in this town, it would be to a former Grisha. I wasn’t expecting…”

“An otkazat’sya?” Alina filled in, as he trailed off. He had the grace to blush slightly. “We were in the war together. Otkazat’sya and Grisha fought side by side; it was the only way we would be able to win.”

“Then were you there? At the Battle on the Shadow Fold?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes.” Alina answered shortly.

“What was it like? Did you see the Sankta’s miracle?”

Alina stopped in the middle of the street. She took a few deep breaths before turning to face the Squaller straight on.

“That day was the most terrible any of us have ever lived through. We watched our friends die all around us and had no idea if we would win in the end. When the light came, no one knew what was happening; we just kept fighting. Eventually, we stopped.” Alina let her eyes bore into his, so he had to look away from the discomfort.

“I’m sure you’ve been taught something of what happened in your classes, but the truth is, none of us want to talk about it. We all lost something that day, no matter what Ravka gained. And I would recommend you never ask anyone to share their darkest memories for your own amusement.”

With a mumbled _yes ma’am_ , he stopped attempting conversation and led her in silence to his commander.

The children seemed oblivious to Alina’s distraction as they walked around town, completing their errands. In the cart, on the ride back, they were still happily chatting about the Grisha they had met and all the colorful kefta’s that had surrounded the lieutenant Miss Anastasia had met with, and what sort of magic science could they all do? Stepan indulged them with his attention from the driver’s seat of the cart, letting Alina sift through her thoughts.

They pulled through the gates of Keramzin and ran into Mal returning from the woods with a few of the younger children. He raised a hand in greeting and paused to help them all dismount from the cart.

“Mister Matvey, Mister Matvey, guess what?” Arkady shouted, bouncing in his seat while waiting for a grown-up to help him down. “Guess what we saw?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Did someone bring a dancing bear to town?”

“No, even better!” The girls chimed in as Mal and Stepan helped them down to the ground. “We saw Grisha!”

“Oh? Was there a troop in town?”

“A small battalion of First and Second Army. They’d stopped for a rest while making their way to the border,” Alina explained, smiling down at her husband as he lifted her down from the cart. Maksim and Yevgeniy had come out as well to help unload the groceries from the cart. “The lieutenant had a letter for us from Genya. I’ll show you over tea.”

“But Mister Matvey, we didn’t tell you the best part!” Arkady said, tugging on Mal’s sleeve, “They showed us their science magic!”

“They did? And what did they do?”

“One of them made wind go all around,” Sabina piped in, “It made our hair fly all around and then a big boom when it went up in the sky.”

“And then the other, she made light come up out of her hands!”

Mal looked sharply over at Alina, who studiously avoided looking at him while she supervised the unloading of the cart. He sighed and turned back to the children.

“Why don’t you head inside and share your story with the other children? But no bragging – just because you saw something new doesn’t mean your better than anyone else.”

“Yes, Mister Matvey!” they chorused before running inside to join their friends. Mal joined Alina in getting the cart unloaded and everything set to right, before meeting her later in their parlor with a tea tray.

“Would you like to see Genya’s letter?” Alina asked when he came in, looking up from the pages she’d been reading, “She shares some gossip about Nikolai’s search for a wife. Also a really juicy story about Zoya we can use to tease her this winter.”

“Maybe later,” he said, preparing their cups of tea. He deliberately stirred in the lumps of sugar, handing a delicate cup over to Alina before slicing a piece of lemon cake and setting it before her. The silence stretched on for several minutes as he fussed over the tea set, before he settled back onto the couch beside her.

“So. There was a Solnyshko in town?”

“Among many other Grisha,” Alina responded neutrally, taking a sip of her tea, “The lieutenant, Irina Kotopchik, is a Durast who trained under David. She’s fairly young; I don’t think she had been at the Little Palace back when – back before.”

“Did anyone recognize you?” Alina shook her head.

“No, none of them. I think the Solnyshko must have been one of the Soldat Sol, but not one I ever met face-to-face.” Alina paused, then smiled wistfully, “She looked radiant though.”

“Alina,” Mal set down his cup on the tray and turned to look at her full on, “It was the best thing that could have happened. You losing your powers gave Ravka a whole army of Sun Summoners, and let you be normal again. It gave us this, it gave us a chance to be with each other.”

“Mal, we would have found way to be together, regardless,” Alina said with exasperation, looking up at him, “I’ve told you, you were the only one I ever wanted to be with. I pushed my powers down to stay by your side when we were children, I wrote to you every week when I was in the Little Palace, I kept you by my side through every step of our battle. No matter what happened on the Fold, I was never going to give you up.”

Mal shook his head, clearly not agreeing with her sentiment.

“No, your powers would have taken you beyond me. You would have been swept away to Os Alta to become queen.”

“Only if I had agreed to it.”

“Why? You didn’t agree the first time, when the Darkling took you after we tried to cross the Fold. Your powers showed up, and you were taken away.”

“My life would have been in danger if it stayed!” Alina cried in disbelief, “No matter what he later did, the Darkling was right about that. We were attacked by Fjerdan’s on the road to Os Alta, and they would’ve certainly gotten to me if we’d stayed in Kribisk with the rest of the army.”

“But only because you were the Sun Summoner. If you’d never gotten your powers, they wouldn’t have even tried to attack you.”

“Mal, my powers were always there, from the moment I was born. Like your tracking – it was always a part of me, even if I didn’t use them.”

Mal’s face darkened, and he turned away. Of course; she’d brought up what he had lost as well. Alina leaned forward, gently laying a hand on arm and spoke softly.

“I know how much you miss your tracking Mal, because it’s like how I miss my summoning. Its like there’s a hole, and even though I’m filling in the space around it, my body knows something is missing.” He didn’t respond, and Alina sighed a little, before leaning in more to rest her head on his shoulder.

“I will never regret being here with you, and this life we’d made for each other. But it doesn’t mean we can’t miss the things we once had, too.”

“Well, I don’t miss them.” Mal said shortly, not looking at her. She lifted her head, ready to argue when he stood abruptly. Casting a brief glance at her, he marched out of the room and left her alone.

Mal remained aloof for the rest of the day. He took part in all the usual activities – getting the children washed up and ready for dinner, joining story time in the evening, getting on the floor to play blocks and dolls with the youngest. But he avoided talking to Alina whenever possible and spoke in clipped sentences when he couldn’t. It was like they were back in Os Alta, back before the Little Palace had been attacked, when they couldn’t be together for 10 minutes without fighting, and in their time apart Alina constantly wondered what she had done wrong. How had they reverted back to this after eight happy years together?

Frustrated, Alina went to bed early, pleading a headache to the other staff. She scrubbed her face with extra vigor, frowning in the mirror all the while before slipping into bed. Buried under the blankets, she didn’t sleep – that was impossible when her mind was churning over and over. Eventually, Mal came into their room and Alina did her best to feign sleep. In the dark, she could hear Mal before shucking off his clothes and crawling under the covers with her.

“Alina?” She scrunched her eyes closed at his voice, forcing herself to appear dead to the world. But, of course, Mal knew her too well to believe that.

“Alina, look, I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have – I should’ve been,” he sighed here, and fell back on the pillows. “I should’ve been better. You’ve proven over and over where I stand – where _we_ stand. But even _thinking_ of how close I was to losing - of what could’ve happened, and I just – I just break down inside.”

He rolled over, practically pressed himself up to Alina’s back. She could feel his breath on her ear and his hand lightly touching her waist.

“You are the most important thing in the world to me, Alina. I love you, and – I just want you to know I will do better. Because you deserve better.” When she didn’t respond, he sighed and rolled back over, settling under the covers. On the other side, Alina felt hot tears press inside her tightly scrunched eyes, but couldn’t stop them from leaking out, slowly wetting the pillow beneath her cheek.

_There was snow all around, falling thick and wet. Alina felt a hand pulling her through the drifts, and when she followed up that hand up its arm, she saw herself looking at the beloved back and curls of Mal. He looked back at her a tired smile on his face._

_“C’mon Alina, you can do this. A little snow can’t stop us.”_

_She smiled in response, trudging after him, hand in hand. The snow was beautiful as it fell, but it kept building up into higher and higher mounds. She struggled against the whiteness as it piled up to her knees, and then her thighs._

_“Mal, stop,” she begged around panting breaths, “I can’t – it’s too much.”_

_“We can’t stop,” he replied, “If we stop, we’ll freeze. We need to keep moving to stay warm.”_

_She knew he was right, of course, but that didn’t make her like it. It was all well and good for him – he was a tall, strong soldier, used to trudging through the worst terrain in search of game or enemy combatants. She was a frail mapmaker who had never been physically adept. It was amazing she’d even been able to carry on this long, considering how winded she normally got with just a minor amount of exercise._

_“Can’t we do something?” she asked, throwing her arms up, “Stop somewhere, light a fire? The snow is getting too high for me.”_

_“What would we burn here? The trees are wet from snow, and any branches or droppings we could use are buried under ice.”_

_"Why don’t I just make a light?” Alina said, raising her arms up to Summon. Mal whirled around and practically fell through the snow drift to grip her wrists and stop her._

_"NO! No, you can’t. If you use your light, they’ll find us. We just have to keep going.”_

_"I_ can’t _keep going, Mal!” Alina was practically in tears with frustration, “I can’t keep struggling through this snow. I need to do_ something _.”_

_"You can’t,” he insisted, transferring his grip to her upper arms, almost shaking her as he shouted, “I can’t lose you again. If you use your light, everyone will know where we are, and they’ll take you away.”_

_"I can fight them off, Mal,” she tried to reassure him, “I’m strong; I can use the Cut. No matter who comes after us, I can take them on.”_

_“But you’ll want to leave with them.” His face was mournful as he begged her to listen, “Don’t you understand? If you use your powers, you won’t be just an ordinary person. You’ll be better than me, and you won’t need me. I can’t let that happen.”_

_“I don’t need you Mal,” Alina growled, ripping herself away from him, and stumbling back into the snow drift that had piled up to her waist during their fight, “I’ve never_ needed _you. But it doesn’t mean I don’t_ want _you.”_

_She raised her hands up to Summon, and Mal howled in agony, trying to reach her through the snow that had now risen up to her chest._

_"If I don’t do this, we’ll both die!” she screamed, trying to make him understand. He kept fighting towards her, shoveling snow away to cross the distance between them._

_"I’m doing this to save us, Mal!” And with that, she raised up and clapped her hands together, sending light blazing out all around her. The snow reflected the light back at her and in every direction, creating a blaze of glory and heat that melted the drifts all around them. Alina could feel the blessed warmth suffuse through her and sighed in relief. She let the light start to dim and decrease in intensity, letting the trees show again, now brilliant green with the leaves of spring._

_“See?” she said with a grin, turning to Mal, “Now we can –“_

_But Mal wasn’t there. She looked around, and saw him running, heading off into the trees._

_"Mal!” She called, starting after him. The running came easily to her, her breathing even and measured as she sprinted after him, “Mal, stop! Come back.”_

_“I can’t,” he cried, never turning around, “You used your powers, and now you’ll leave me. I can’t see you walk away from me again.”_

_"Mal, I won’t leave you!” she cried in response, continuing to run after him, never quite catching up despite how hard she pushed herself, “Come back! I promise! Now we can go together!”_

_All she heard was Mal’s repetitive ‘No, no, no’ drifting back to her as he continued to run ahead of her._

_"Why do you insist on chasing after him?” a voice whispered in her ear, making Alina skid to a stop. She turned, and saw him there, shadows wreathed around his legs, his head cocked quizzically._

_“Because I love him. Something you wouldn’t understand.” She retorted, fists clenched at her side._

_“Are you certain he loves you in return?” Alina scoffed, but he didn’t seem to hear. Instead, he walked closer, scrutinizing her for a moment. “It seems whenever you reveal you true self, he runs off.”_

_“He’s just scared. He doesn’t understand yet.”_

_“How can he learn to understand you if he won’t even stay to listen to you?” Alina turned her back on him, not wanting to listen to his words. Her eyes searched the trees, looking for where Mal had gone, when she felt him lean closer, hovering over her shoulder._

_“I hate to see you like this, Alina. You shine so brightly; why waste your time on the dirt below when the expanse of the heavens are open to you?”_

_“Why should I listen to you?”_

_"Because, Alina,” he reached a hand to her arm, and gently tugged her around to face him. She didn’t back away as he slowly raised a hand to rest on her cheek, and lowered himself to rest his forehead against hers, “You deserve better.”_

Alina woke the next morning early, just as the sun was starting to rise. Her dream lingered in her mind, and she found she couldn’t fall back asleep; her mind was too full. Eventually, she got up, completed her morning ablutions, dressed and went downstairs. She found their cook and one of the maids already up, fussing about the kitchen, setting to making the massive amounts of breakfast required to feed the small army that inhabited Keramzin. While the sun rose higher in the sky, Alina helped set out the tureens of porridge and fill the samovars with tea before preparing a tray of eggs, rye, porridge and a pot of tea. Bidding farewell to the kitchen staff, she made her way upstairs.

Mal was starting to stir when she entered the room. Placing the tray on his side table, she sat on the mattress, and gently ran her hands through his hair. A blissful smile crossed his face before he sleepily opened up his eyes.

“Alina?” he mumbled, barely awake.

“I brought you breakfast,” she said, smiling back down at him. He grew more alert, and grabbed the hand carding through his hair, drawing it down to lay a fervent kiss on it.

“Alina, I’m so sorry,” he pulled himself upright, keeping her hand in his and drawing it towards his chest. “I was being stupid. And you are amazing and wonderful –“

“I know I am,” she interrupted him with a smile, before leaning into place a sweet kiss on his lips. He leaned into it appreciatively, letting the kiss linger between them.

“Then I’m forgiven?”

“You have always been first in my heart, Mal,” she replied. He sighed in relief, and let a wide smile blossom across his face and crinkle his eyes. “Now, lets take a moment and enjoy breakfast. I could already hear Vasilisa and Svetlana chattering away in their room; I’m sure they’ll have all the others woken up soon.”

"I’ll take any moment I can have with you.”


	5. Part I, Chapter 4

Later that week, Alina found a reason to go into town on her own. Stepan still drove her, but he didn’t seem to mind the extra work. Alina suspected there was a person he was sweet on there, as he was perfectly happy to saddle up the cart and head into town at any moment he was asked. Even better if it was a nebulous errand where he could loiter away for an hour or so without bother.

Alina set about her errands, stopping in at the inn that also served as a post office to drop off a letter to Genya that would be sent with the next caravan to Os Alta, and indulging in a few minutes of pleasantries and gossip with the proprietress. Next, she made her way to the town butcher, and spent a quarter hour ordering a delivery of sausages to Keramzin and arranging for a couple of the butcher’s men to come up to the estate next week to help with the slaughter of a few of their pigs. As usual, he offered her some salt herring to take with her and, as always, she laughingly declined.

Regular tasks taken care of, she made her way over to the far side of town where the smithy stood. From a distance, she could hear the clang of metal on metal. When she came closer, she could see the master smith overseeing several of his apprentices out in the yard, hammering away at hot lumps of iron, sweat dripping down their backs and faces. Patiently, she waited several minutes for him to finish giving his instructions, then moved to catch his eye.

“Mistress Anastasia,” he came over to greet her in the relative quiet in front of his shop, “How are you? That new axle on the cart still holding?”

“It has, and the rides have definitely been much kinder on my backside since,” she responded with a smile.

“What can I do for you then?”

“I’m wondering if you or any of your apprentices are trained in doing finer, smaller work. I need something made that’s a bit more delicate than a horseshoe.” He raised a brow at her.

“What kind of delicate work are we talking about?”

“A piece of jewelry. I recently was given a memento of someone I lost in the war, and I wanted to try and have it set in something to keep them close.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a paper, unfolding it to reveal the lock of night-black hair. The smith reached down to grab the strands, and Alina had to keep from snatching it back from him.

“Most common thing would be a locket, and you could tuck this inside.”

“No,” Alina interjected, “Not a locket. I was thinking of something more like this.”

Another piece of paper was pulled out, and she showed a sketch she’d made of bracelet, made of braided bits of metal that the lock of hair could be woven into and held in place. The smith studied the picture closely, shooting a couple curious glances up at her.

"I expect something like this could be made. Aleksey is the one to do it for you though; he’s got a real fine touch for fancy bits like this.” He beckoned Alina to follow him into the shop and into the back section where a couple smaller smelters were putting out heat and a few people were hammering away at thin sheets of copper and tin.

“Aleksey!” the smith called, drawing the attention of a wiry man. He put down his tools and hurried over, letting Alina get a glimpse of his plain, broad face, dotted with smudges of black.

“Yes sir?”

“Mistress Anastasia here has a commission, and I think you’d be best suited for her request.” He handed the young man the sketch Alina had brought while she launched into an explanation of what she was looking for. He nodded along, looking intently at the drawing she’d made, and the little packet of shorn hair.

“I can do something like this, but I’ll have to change the design of this braiding,” he said, pointing out part of the design on her sketch. Alina noted the deft gracefulness of his fingers, dotted with burn callouses from his work. “Structurally, it won’t hold together. It would work if I did something more like this.”

A pencil appeared in his hand from somewhere, and he sketched over her lines to create a new pattern of metal.

“Will it still hold the hair? I need it to be exposed, but not able to escape the bracelet.”

“Yes,” he responded with decisiveness, giving a nod at his sketch for good measure. “Doing it this way will keep the hair from getting snagged in the loops and coming loose.”

“Then I’ll trust your craftsmanship, Aleksey,” Alina affirmed with a smile. “How long do you think it will take?”

“Are you looking to have this made in gold?”

“No, not gold,” Alina said, “Something cooler in color.”

“Do we have any silver?” Aleksey asked the smith. The older man frowned as he thought a moment.

“No, not at the moment. We’d have to send away for some; it might take a month or so to arrive.”

“Well, what do you have on hand?” Alina asked. A month or more would be unbearable.

“We always have tin and iron, though I wouldn’t recommend them for this kind of jewelry. There’s some copper, but that sounds like the wrong color for what you want -”

“Do you have steel?” Alina interjected.

“We definitely have steel, though it’s a bit high priced to be used in this kind of work.” The smith responded.

“I will pay whatever it costs.”

“I’ve never made anything like this out of steel,” Aleksey mused, looking down at the sketch in his hand with a new fervor in his eye. “I’ll have to experiment to see how well it does in these smaller, delicate hooks. But I think it will take only about a week to finish.”

“Perfect. I’ll come back and see you in a week,” Alina gave a smile, happy with the outcome. “And please, be very careful with – with that parcel. It’s all I have left of that person.”

Both the smith and Aleksey gave her sympathetic and serious nods. They, like everyone else among the Ravkan peasantry, had lost someone during the war, and continued to lose loved ones to Ravka’s defense of its borders. With a nod of thanks, Alina turned and saw herself out of the shop.

She didn’t tell Mal when she got back to Keramzin. She didn’t tell him when she got up in the middle of night and sat in the windowsill, trying to call her light and longing for the feel of those silky strands in her fingers. She didn’t tell him when he asked if he could pick anything up in town that week. And she didn’t tell him when, after seven days of restless waiting, she returned to the smith to pick up her commission.

The master smith was not at the counter when she came into the shop, but when she mentioned Aleksey the assistant told her to wait a moment before going to fetch him. Alina shifted subtly back and forth on her feet, eyes fixed on the doorway to the back workrooms. An interminable and yet short amount of time later, Aleksey came out, beaming at her.

“Mistress Anastasia! I’m so glad to show you. I finished it up this morning and put a final polish on not ten minutes ago.”

He opened the small box in his hands, revealing a glint of silver. Alina thought for certain her breath would catch, but the reaction was much quieter, much softer. She could see the interlocking design Aleksey had created, not delicate but adamantine. Entwined in the icy shine of steel was a stark band of black, seeming to suck the light from the surrounding steel. Alina couldn’t imagine an ornament that better reflected the person it was ostensibly meant to honor.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect, Aleksey. You did a wonderful job.” He beamed at her, then gestured for her hand. She raised her right arm, and he fitted the bracelet on. The moment it encircled her wrist she could feel the call reaching deep inside of her, the beckoning of merzost. The rush practically made her dizzy, and she missed Aleksey’s questions.

“Miss Anastasia, are you alright? Does it fit?”

“Yes, I think so,” her right hand reached out to touch the bracelet, testing its ability to shift around her wrist. “I wouldn’t want it any looser.”

“Great. If you change your mind later, come and see me, and I’ll adjust the links for you.” He looked appreciatively down at his work again, lustrous around Alina’s thin wrist.

“Thank you very much, Aleksey. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“It was a fun challenge. If you ever have other unique designs, let me know. Everyone else in this town’s needs are too practical.”

Alina laughed at his words, feeling light and bright throughout.

“You have every commission I’ll ever make again. How much do I owe you for this?”

“Oh, um,” he turned around, looking for someone and finally alighting on the shop assistant who’d found him earlier, “Yelena, do you have the receipt for Mistress Anastasia here?”

The lady nodded back. Alina thanked Aleksey again and went to the young lady to pay for her precious gift. The coins that exchanged hands were more than Alina had spent at any one time in the past eight years, but she had no regrets. Walking out into the sun again, she could feel her body sing, every fiber of her vibrating with the feel of power being reawakened. Looking round to check for passers-by, Alina held out a hand and closed her eyes. Focusing, she felt the sun warming her palm, and willed everything in her to recreate that power. Deep inside, she could feel that that spark catching, rising up to answer and echo the call reaching down into her. It rose and rose and rose-

And it wasn’t enough. Alina dropped her shoulders along with her concentration. It wasn’t there, not yet. But it was closer. Her light felt the call of like to like and was trying to answer. No doubt it would take time and practice to coax it to the surface again, but it was undeniable. Alina could wait and take the time to nurture her light because now she knew, beyond any doubt, that it was there, and always would be.

Alina hid the new bracelet under her sleeve, keeping it out of sight of Mal and everyone else. When she had need to expose her forearms, she’d unhook the ornament and tuck it deep in a pocket suppressing a shudder of longing and loss. When going to bed, she’d tuck it under her pillow until Mal fell asleep, and then she’d rise, clasping it back around her wrist, and sit in her usual spot on the windowsill, practicing her summoning.

It was during one of these nocturnal sessions that she saw him.

The memories of her lessons in the Little Palace guided her nighttime exercises – how to strengthen the channels of her power, how to reach out and feel the light around her. While there was no visible change in her abilities, she could feel her light becoming more substantial within her. The relic around her wrist constantly called out to the power within her, beckoning it to reach out and meet; like calling to like.

Finishing an exercise, Alina let her head fall back to rest on the window frame. The moon was only half full, but with autumn moving in and chilling the nights, the silver light caught on the frost coating the windows. The light refracted in a way that looked like lace draped across the floor of her room. Alina was admiring the effect, when the lacy light reflected off a pale face hovering in the shadows.

Her first instinct was – she wasn’t sure. It felt like her mind had simply stopped as she stared. He didn’t move, didn’t even appear to blink.

“You.” Alina wasn’t sure if the whispered word was an accusation, an invitation, or a question. When he didn’t respond, she slowly got to her feet and cautiously made her way across the room. Coming closer, she noted his face seemed insubstantial, like a sketch without all the details filled in. But the eyes were unmistakable; Alina could never forget that piercing gray.

“How are you here?”

He didn’t respond. Alina found herself halting several lengths away from him, unsure if she should approach closer, but without a good reason not to. Instead, she just stared. His eyes met hers with a definite hunger, drinking in the sight of her backlit in the moonlight. Time stood still before he faded into the shadows.

“Aleksander?” Alina rushed forward to where he’d just been, but there was no sign of him or that he’d just stood there. Bewildered, Alina closed her eyes and tried to reach out down the link between them, but felt nothing. Their bond just stretched out into the infinite universe.

Of course it did. Because he was dead; she’d watched his body burn alongside hers. The bracelet around her wrist held the last physical reminder of the Darkling. Was she going mad, seeing things that weren’t there, or had Alina, by trying to call her power back to her, somehow also conjured him back into the world?


	6. Part I, Chapter 5

Seeing the face of a ghost set Alina’s mind racing. Had drawing on his power though the quasi-amplifier on her wrist somehow brought a form of the Darkling back? Or, when they had shared their powers that night in the chapel at the palace, had she taken more than just a bit of his power? Had she maybe taken a bit of his soul? And drawing on her power again had also strengthened that part of him?

The fear and uncertainty of the questions buzzing in her head kept Alina from wearing the bracelet, and made her wary of trying to call on her light. But within a few days, she could feel herself craving the feeling the bracelet around her wrist, and the first tell-tale signs of weakness that emerged when a Grisha didn’t use their powers. The staff attributed her lethargy and weakness to catching the same late summer cold that was raging through the children’s dormitories, and Alina let all of them and Mal coddle her, staying in bed with honey-sweetened hot tea and a book of fairy stories. After the second day abed, when Mal had departed after gifting her with fresh flowers and sweet kisses, she took the bracelet back out of its hiding place in her stocking drawer and clasped it back around her wrist.

When she rose the next day, looking hale and hearty, the cook congratulated herself on the surefire cure of a splash of ginger vodka in the mistress’s tea.

Alina was cautious over the ensuing weeks, keeping a watchful eye when she completed her exercises, but the Darkling refrained from haunting her waking hours. While her sleep was less certain, she found she didn’t mind the occasional visits there, where no one would ever know.

Summer faded, and the oncoming of the harvest season also meant the approaching of Alina’s least favorite time of year – the anniversary of the Battle on the Fold. The morning of the annual celebration, Mal still had to coax her out of bed and into town, though with less effort than the previous year. He’d been badly afflicted with the nightmares this time, and they had held each other in the pre-dawn light, whispering about all the joys of the last year, and their love for each other.

As before, they corralled the children into the carts and into town, though the job was made easier with a year of maturation and no new children having been added to the brood. In the church, Alina and Mal clutched each other’s hands throughout the service, and she let the tears pooling up in her eyes gently drip down her cheeks as she remembered the lives lost and the friends who had fought by her and for her in that year leading up to the final battle. Silently, she whispered their names, promising she would always remember them, even if history forgot who they were and all they had done. When the priest finished speaking and the prayers ended, she wiped her cheeks and led the children out into the square with a smile. A veil of sadness still hung over her, but she could feel light piercing through that veil of shadow; after all, she thought, touching the bracelet on her wrist, not everything had actually been lost that day.

So, it was with real joy that she could converse with her neighbors, share memories of those they’d lost, and dance together to celebrate all those who’d survived and still carried on. They returned to Keramzin by the light of the stars, half the children already nodding off on the cart ride back. Alina and Mal helped carry all the little ones up to their beds before retiring. In the moonlight, they undressed and drank in each other, taking comfort in familiar sweet caresses and moans. After, they held each other, falling asleep with arms entwined.

By habit, Alina woke up in the middle of the night to work through her summoning exercises. She blindly reached a hand over to the little table where she had put the bracelet last night before falling into bed with Mal. When she couldn’t feel it, she groaned and forced herself to sit up and look properly. But instead, when she finally opened her eyes, she saw him.

The Darkling was standing near the foot of her bed.

She muffled a scream and scrambled back against the headboard. He just gazed at her, that familiar, infuriatingly neutral expression on his face. The moonlight fell across one side of his face, casting the other in shadow, grey eyes glinting like steel.

“What are you doing here?” Alina whispered furiously, looking over at the sleeping Mal next to her. When she shot her eyes back to him, the Darkling let the barest hint of amusement cross his face. Alina looked around and saw the flash of steel from her bracelet where it lay on the ground, partially hidden by her bedside table. Slowly, never removing her eyes from him, she slid out of bed and crouched down to grab it. In her hand, she could feel his powering calling out to hers, but the figure didn’t move.

“How are you doing this?” she whispered, “Are you real? Did – did I bring you back?”

He didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just watched her as intently as she watched him. Clutching the bracelet tight in her hand, she moved decisively towards him, refusing to be cowed. As she drew close and reached out a hand – to grab him? Slap him? Embrace him? – to do whatever popped in her head in the moment, he dissolved into shadows and was gone.

Alina growled in frustration, before hastily closing the clasp of the bracelet around her wrist and putting all her energy into reaching out for the link between them. Her face screwed up in concentration as she felt for the familiar connection between them, but, again, it only led to the vast emptiness. There was no sign of him, at least as he had been before.

Alina refused to let this second appearance of the Darkling affect her. She would continue her attempts to stretch and grow her powers, hoping to soon have command over light again. However, she shifted her practice from the middle of the night to daytime hours when she could find time to be alone. Her predilection for occasionally wandering the environs around Keramzin alone served her well, as no one suspected anything amiss when she would walk off into the woods or meadows. If she was annoyed when Mal or one of the children decided to accompany her, she hid all signs of it.

Mal in particular was inclined to join her as the leaves started to turn and animals stirred about, preparing for winter. He would get a faraway look in his eyes while staring off into the trees, and Alina knew he was trying to sense the heartbeats of all the fauna as he used to. At those moments, she almost told him about the return of her spark, sure that he’d understand how it felt to regain something so essential to her. But then she would catch a glimpse of his expression when she stood in a field, palms cupped to catch rays of sunlight, and Alina instinctively knew it was better not to tell.

The one guaranteed place Alina had to herself was her painting studio. It was a near sacred space that everyone knew to avoid, for if Mistress Anastasia had the door shut, she was not to be disturbed. Alina would split her time between practicing her summoning and painting, slashing on oils with her paintbrushes in frustration when she felt no change in her abilities, or sketching out her delight when a practice session left her feeling hopeful.

There was one piece she returned to only when a certain mood overtook her. It wasn’t quite nostalgia, nor quite hope, but perhaps a longing for something. It sometimes burned hot or splashed cool over her, and from the canvas slowly emerged a triptych of red and blue bordering a calm whiteness. As Alina worked on painting a form into her feelings, she would occasionally catch a hint of black shadows from the corner of her eye. And yet, whenever she turned to confront it, nothing was there; only the brightness of her studio splashed with colorful canvases on every wall. No ghosts wreathed in black to haunt her waking hours.

The winter snows brought warmth and cheer to the residents of Keramzin even as frost and chill covered the outdoors. As always, on the first snow, the children were woken up by Mal shouting for everyone to join him as he raced down the hall, hurrying them into winter coats and gloves so they could pile into the snow drifts, making snowmen and angels and tossing packed snowballs all over the yard. Alina grinned happily from her place at the window, content to sip warm chocolate by a blazing fireplace while Mal led the frolicking in the snow. The nighttime stories by the fire reflected the change in season, with Alina spinning tales of snow maidens, Father Frost and the Winter Queen, much to the wide-eyed delight of their young changes. And as midwinter approached, so too did the much-anticipated winter visit of their friends from Os Alta.

Two days before the feast of Sankt Nikolai, the familiar closed sled came up the drive to Keramzin. The door burst open, and a swirl of red, blue, and purple keftas came pouring out while Alina ran from the entry way to greet them. Genya met her in a bone-crushing hug, finally releasing her for more restrained embraces with Zoya and David. In the windows, all the children of Keramzin were watching, noses pressed to the glass, hoping to catch glimpses of the sweets and presents these fancy Grisha always brought with them. And they were not disappointed; Stepan and Yevgeniy had followed Alina out and were already helping to unload all sorts of tantalizingly wrapped packages from the sled.

Alina led the trio into the warmth of the building, happily chatting as they shared the story of their journey, asked after the state of the town, and generally bustled about as they removed coats, hats, and scarves before settling in front of the fireplace in the main drawing room. Kseniya brought in fresh tea and cake, serving all of them before departing. Mal arrived shortly before she left and joined Alina on the sofa, happily joining in the talk of changes in the past year and how life was going at Keramzin.

The next day, their guests participated in holiday activities with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Genya was more than happy to spend time sharing stories with some of the girls and boys while brushing their hair and braiding it into elaborate styles with fantastic streaks of purple, blue or gold twisted in. Zoya, despite her grumpy exterior, would slip sweets to all the children as she orated stories of great Grisha heroes and adventures. David was perhaps the most surprising to someone who didn’t know him; he would immediately crouch on the floor with the children to wind their toys and show them how to build better structures out of blocks and books for their soldiers and dolls to play in, and then with equal enthusiasm show them the best way to knock all their fortresses back down again. And when the fires started burning down, they all joined in telling the story of Sankt Nikolai before bundling the children off to bed so the adults could spirit out all the hidden gifts and place them just so for the morning.

The morning of Sankt Nikolai’s feast started well before dawn with squeals of delight from all the children rushing downstairs to find their individually labeled presents and tear into them. Alina and Mal sacrificed their own sleep to allow all the other adults a bit of rest and supervised the gift opening, while passing out pastries prepared the night before. When Zoya, Genya, and David descended the stairs at a much more reasonable hour with much of the Keramzin staff, the parlor had become a war zone of torn paper and scattered stockings, packed with children showing off and playing with their newest acquisitions, while Alina and Mal dozed off in the center.

Cheerfulness was the mood of the day, and good feelings permeated all of the residents and guests. After some strong coffee, Alina and Mal gave their presents to the staff members and received pleasant gifts of beautiful new knitted scarves and gloves in return. The children were given rule of the house for the day, running about screaming and laughing, playing with all their new toys and begging for participation from their favorite grown-ups. Dinner was a similarly loud and boisterous affair with juicy meats, roasted vegetables, and rich sauces, rounded off with the much-anticipated cakes and candies brought special from Os Alta.

It was no surprise that most of the children ended up shuffling off to bed early after a day full of such excitements, and Alina was happily able to sink back into her favorite sofa with a cup of tea early that evening, Genya beside her.

“How you can manage all these tiny humans every day and not be all wrinkled and haggard, I have no idea,” Genya sighed, taking a deep sip from her mildly sweetened tea. “I’ll have to work some of my own magic on myself tonight just to make sure I don’t wake up with bags under my eyes.”

“When you stop caring about the bags, it’s a lot easier,” Alina laughed, “Luckily, I had a lifetime of unattractiveness to prepare me for this eventuality.”

Genya rolled her eye at Alina.

“You were just untapped potential waiting for an artist like myself to polish up the edges. Though you really should let me send you some new dye when we get back to Os Alta. Whatever you’re using now,” she leaned forward and ran a lock of Alina’s hair through her fingers, “Is not doing its job.”

“It’s brown,” Alina said defensively, grabbing a section of hair for herself to examine. “That’s all I need it to be.”

“Well, how often are you recoloring?”

“Whenever the roots start coming in. I just did it last month.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Genya replied, shaking her head, “Look at how badly this color is fading! The silver is poking through already. If the color was binding your hair properly, it would stay brown even as your hair grew out.”

She leaned back and scrutinized Alina’s appearance minutely.

“I must say, I think the silver suits you better, though. You have been looking amazing these past few days, back like you did in Os Alta. I’d even say you’re glowing.” Genya paused for a moment, then her eyes opened wide. She dove forward, grabbing Alina’s hand and whispered excitedly, “Alina, you _are_ glowing. Are you pregnant?”

Her words had initially stopped Alina’s heart, sure that Genya had somehow ferreted out her secret. When she continued with her speculation, it was such a relief that Alina could only burst out laughing. Genya pouted and threw Alina’s hand back at her before crossing her own arms.

“Fine, don’t tell me. I’m just your best friend who you won’t share secrets with.”

“Genya,” Alina chortled, choking down her laughs long enough to speak, “I am definitely not pregnant.”

“Oh?” Genya raised an elegant eyebrow. “You’re that sure? So, things aren’t going well between you and Mal in the bedroom?”

“No!” Alina sputtered, blushing, “No! I mean, yes, things are great between us. Not that you need to know anything about my sex life.”

“Prude.”

“Nasty gossip.”

“Always.” Genya grinned back. “Are you at all worried, though? You’ve been together almost ten years now.”

“So have you and David.”

“David and I also aren’t a normal, otkazat’sya couple living in the middle of nowhere.” Genya said pointedly. “Our ridiculously beautiful babies will come when we’re not constantly leading armies and trying to maintain fragile peace with our war-hungry neighbors while recruiting a whole new generation of Grisha to come to Ravka.”

“Alright, I get it, your life so much more important and busy than mine,” Alina threw her hands in the air with annoyance. Playing with her teacup, she took a few moments before adding, “We already have so many children we’re caring for here. I don’t need a child from my own body to be complete. Besides, I already gave Ravka a whole host of Sun Summoners; I don’t think they need anything more from me.”

“You’re right,” Genya said sympathetically, “And it is absolutely your choice. Children just seemed like part of the plan you and Mal had; a completely normal thing that happens in normal lives.”

“Maybe. But so far it hasn’t happened.”

“Well, if it does every happen, and I’m not named god mother, I will find you and strangle you.” Genya said, shifting to a humor note. Alina was grateful and took the opportunity to shift the conversation to happenings in Os Alta.

“Oh, Nikolai is still playing the politics game, trying to build up relationships with Fjerda and Shu Han. Both are trying to offer him political brides, but he’s done a great job of dancing around them for the moment. Until things are more stable on both sides, he doesn’t want to commit himself one way or the other.”

“And are things more stable?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Genya said, setting her teacup aside. “The loans from Kerch have helped to rebuild a lot of the infrastructure for the armies and fund more of Nikolai’s defense projects. We’ve been able to shore up defenses under the pseudo-peace, though there’s still a worrying number of border skirmishes on both sides.

“Nikolai really wants to focus on rebuilding the countryside – helping to fund new farming techniques and continue funding apprenticeships for trades. We’ll need a strong backbone of food and weaponry whenever the next big attacks come. But each time one of them pokes us, it requires sending troops and supplies to defend and reinforce the border and diverts time and money from other things that would make Ravka strong again.”

Genya shook her head, a wry smile on her face.

“When we were fighting to free Ravka, I assumed things would easy after we won and _he_ was gone. Turns out, ruling and leading are pretty thankless jobs.”

“Why do you think I wanted to avoid it so much?” Alina quipped.

“You made the smart decision. Maybe I can just Tailor my face to something unrecognizable and come out here to join you.”

“You would be miserable out here, Genya. And bored out of your mind. You weren’t made for an otkazat’sya life.”

“Technically, neither were you,” she pointed out, pouring out a fresh cup of tea. Alina could feel face twitch, unsure whether to grimace or smile. Instead, she schooled her expression before Genya looked back up at her. “Oh, I’m not trying to convince you to come back to Os Alta with us. I just mean you were born Grisha, and still are. But as long as you’re happy here, then it’s where you should be.”

“I’m happy.” Alina said.

She was. Definitely. Very happy, and very content.

But the bracelet around her wrist felt cold and she could hear it in her bones singing out _Are you sure?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we leave 2020 behind, and embark into 2021, I want to thank all of you who have taken the time to read this story. **What is Infinite?** has been living in my head for around 2 years, and when I started to write it out for NaNo 2020, I was honestly terrified of sharing it. All of your responses and comments have done so much for me, and I hope I can continue to share my writings with you for many more years.
> 
> Congratulations to all of you for making it through 2020, and I hope that looking forward into 2021, you will all be gifted with hope, and triumphs, and joy. And when you are able to vaccinated for COVID-19, please do, for your own safety, and for that of everyone around you.


	7. Part I, Chapter 6

Their friends’ departure left Alina more melancholy than usual. She took to her studio more often, closing the door off to everyone as she worked through her thoughts with oil paints and summoning exercises. Mal was worried about her, she knew, but it was hard to express the emotions. He loved Genya, Zoya and David; it would have been impossible not to love them after having been one of them through the latter half of that terrible year. But he’d always been outside of them; an otkazat’sya surrounded by Grisha. And his personal feelings about Alina and her powers had only complicated the relationship he had with all of them. There would always be something that bonded Alina and them that he was not a part of.

He tried to pull her from the veil that had fallen over her since Sankt Nikolai’s day – knocking at her studio door to present her with early crocuses he’d found peeking through the snow, making sure the cook always had her favorite cakes at tea, and pulling her up to dance at night when Yevgeniy pulled out his balalaika to entertain everyone. Alina appreciated all of his efforts and was genuinely happy in the moments they shared. But, when left to her solitary pursuits, her dolorous thoughtfulness would return and the veil between her and the rest of the world would descend.

Mal’s patience with her brooding seemed to wane after a few weeks, though. He stopped bringing trinkets to her studio and again seemed to ignore her in the evening parlor gatherings. His kisses became more perfunctory and when they received their first letter from Genya after the winter holidays, he declined to read it, only shooting a disdainful look at it while Alina tried to read the contents over tea. Finally, when Kseniya came up to her studio to summon her to tea one afternoon, Alina decided she’d had enough.

Stomping into their personal parlor, she slammed the door shut behind her, causing Mal to jump in his seat on the sofa.

“This has just gotten too stupid,” she declared from her spot by the door, arms crossed to emphasize her annoyance. “What did I do and what did Genya do to make you so mad?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, turning back to the tea set. Alina practically growled but refused to give in and approach the sofa. She’d make _him_ look at _her_.

“You were incredibly sweet and thoughtful after they left, and then suddenly stopped. You didn’t want to read Genya’s letter, you’ve been ignoring me, and I’m tired of it.”

“Well, I was tired of you pining for them!” Mal didn’t turn round, choosing to glare at the teacup in front of him. “You should have just gone back to Os Alta if you were going to sulk so much.”

“Sulk? You’re accusing _me_ of sulking?”

“What else would you call it? They left, and you got all moody and distant. I tried to make you feel better, show you that I love you, but it wasn’t enough, was it? You just kept thinking about how much you’d rather be there.”

“When did I ever say I’d rather be in Os Alta?” Alina practically shouted, clenching her fists in anger. “I’m here because I want to be here. With you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be, should you? It’s what they think and tell you, every time they come. I don’t know why we even invite them anymore.”

“We invite them because they’re our friends, Mal. Not mine, _ours_.” Mal finally turned round, giving her a very pointed, skeptical look.

“They don’t try to convince me that I’m not an otkazat’sya.”

“Because you are otkazat’sya.”

“Well, so are you. Not that they ever seem to remember.” Mal’s face turned dark again, and he looked away from her. “And this year it seemed like you didn’t want to remember either.”

Alina let a sigh of exasperation escape her lips before she could stop it, and she could see Mal’s face darken more.

“What will it take to convince you that I am here because I want to be? That I’m with you because I choose to be?”

“I don’t know,” Mal admitted. The confession seemed to vent all the anger from him, and he slumped down into the couch, deflated. Alina rushed over to him and could see the sparkle of unshed tears building. He folded over, shoving his fists to his eyes, hiding his face from her.

“I’m sorry, Alina. I don’t know why I do this. Why I can’t stop thinking that you’ll leave.” She draped her arm over him, pulling them closer as she planted a kiss behind his ear. “It’s the only thing I have nightmares of anymore. Of one day you just waking up and walking away.”

"I’m not leaving,” Alina said softly, “I fought so I could have this life with you. I gave up my powers so I could stay right by your side.”

“I know. I know that's true. I do. I just – I love you so much.”

“Then you have to trust that I love you just as much. Because I do.”

“I know.” A small chuckle escaped him, and he lifted his head just enough to look up at her. “Maybe just remind me sometimes?”

“If telling you ‘I love you’ an extra five times a day helps you get over this, I will make that sacrifice.” A truer, albeit wavering grin spread on Mal’s face, and he leaned over to plant a kiss on her face. She returned it firmly, trying to put the solidity of her love into their embrace. When they finally pulled away, Mal left one of his large hands cupping her face, stroking her cheekbone.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you in my life.”

“Not much these past few weeks, but you can make it up to me by cutting me a giant slice of that cinnamon cake.”

When she departed the parlor after tea – but not before holding Mal’s head in her hands while she firmly stated _I love you_ – she made her way down the hall with tea tray in hands to return to the kitchen. On the way, she passed by one of the playrooms, and she soon her shouts of “Miss Anastasia, Miss Anastasia!” She paused and turned to see one of the children running up to her.

“Yes Kostya?” she asked looking down at his curly brown head.

“Miss Anastasia, you said no one’s supposed to be in your painting room. But I saw a man in there! I told him he wasn’t allowed.”

“When were you by my studio?”

“A little bit ago. The door was open, and I just wanted to look. I didn’t go in, I promise!”

“You did the right thing, not going in," Alina said with a gentle smile. "Was it Maksim or Stepan you saw?”

“No, it wasn’t them,” he shook his head vigorously, sending the curls flying around his face. “It was a man, but he was all black. I told him he wasn’t allowed – because that’s what you always tell us – but he didn’t listen to me. So I told him again, and said I’d have to go get Miss Kseniya if he didn’t leave, but then he went away.”

Alina was frozen; frozen in body and frozen in mind. This didn’t make any sense. She knew how he theoretically could be just appearing. But how could others see him?

“What do you mean by ‘went away’? Did he walk out the door, or go out the window?” Kostya just shook his head again.

“No, he was gone. All the black just went away, like this,” he wiggled his fingers, spreading them out like to look like motes of dust floating on the wind.

“Did he say anything? Did he look at you?”

“Nuh-uh, didn’t say anything. He just looked at your paintings.”

“Thank you for telling me, Kostya,” Alina said, mind running frantically over with thoughts and speculation. “I’m glad you remembered the rules and tried to make sure others followed them too.”

The little boy beamed with pride, but Alina didn’t see, turning to continue her walk down the hall. She absentmindedly handed the tea tray off to one of the staff and turned back to her studio. Stepping in, she closed the door firmly behind her before peering around.

“Aleksander?” she spoke aloud into the empty space. “Aleksander, are you here?”

Moving carefully about the room, she examined all the paintings and her supplies, but everything was still in order. Three pieces were up on easels in various stages of completion, though none of the canvas faces would have been visible from the door. Alina looked long and hard at each one, wondering what he had seen and what he had thought gazing on her art.

“If you’re going to be a jerk and judge me, at least do it to my face,” she said aloud to the air around her. In the silence, she could almost feel his smirk.

“Fine, keep it to yourself. I didn’t make it for you, anyway.” But she picked up her palette and started furiously laying in new brushstrokes, not leaving until the sun went down.

Alina kept her resolution of reassuring Mal and became accustomed to walking up to him at random points throughout the day to declare _I love you._ He clearly delighted in this new game and would seek her out at random moments to sneak kisses on her cheek or hand. The staff of Keramzin all shook their heads at the blatant displays of affection – from an old married couple at that – while the children all chorused sounds of disgust when Mal would kiss Alina in front of them. It felt good to be reassured of their relationship again and feel the sparks between them fly just as high as ever. The only wish Alina had was that she could have shared the growth her summoning, but the fight that had preceded this current state of bliss convinced her to keep her secret close, at least for now.

The stretching of her powers with regular, daily exercises remained a critical part of her day. It was harder to find uninterrupted time alone, with Mal suddenly dropping in on her more often, but she found she was much quicker about adopting an innocent mien when someone chanced upon her in the fields or knocked on her studio door. Her practice time may have been more disjointed, but she could feel that it was working. One day, near the end of winter while she’d been out wandering through the partially melted snowdrifts, she’d felt something bright and singing shoot up her arm. Quickly, she’d held out her hand, focusing on the feeling of power and faintly, ever so faintly, she could swear her hand began to glow.

It was only the barest display, and could hardly be seen in the bright, winter daylight. But it was there, it was real! The glow disappeared after only a few seconds, but Alina could feel her heart singing. She’d done it! She’d summoned! Awkwardly, she danced around the muddy field, laughing and shouting in delight. The bracelet at her wrist called out brightly, and the power inside her responded, suffusing her veins and warming her from the inside.

Despite all attempts, Alina was unable to repeat the trick again that day, but it didn’t matter. After months of practice, years of nothingness, she’d made her first display of light. She threw herself into her practice with more vigor and devotion, and by the time the spring blossoms had finished their lifespan and started to fall from the trees, she was able to consistently produce a small glow, no more than a single candle flame, in the palm of her hand.

The continued practice also seemed to continue attracting sporadic sightings of him. While she’d resumed nighttime practice sessions again – it was one of her few guaranteed times Mal wouldn’t surprise her with a sign of affection – he never showed up in her bedchamber. Once, while she had been walking around the orchards, lingering to enjoy the smell of apple blossoms after Mal had returned to the house, she saw him. The darkness of his form stood out among the bright greens and whites of the flowering trees. When Alina called, he turned to face her, but his form disintegrated before she could get close enough to touch him.

Another time, while she was cleaning up the parlor after all the children had been packed off to bed, she saw him looking at the array of fairy stories and adventure tales lined up on the shelves. When he turned to look at her, a dirty rag in one hand from cleaning up a hot chocolate spill and an armload of wooden blocks in the other, she could see him scan the mess at her feet and in her arms before looking directly at her, eyebrow quirked in a scoffing question. Alina flushed slightly before raising her chin in defiance.

“Too common for you? I happen to like this messy, simple life.”

He fixed her with a scrutinizing look before again vanishing into the shadows cast around the room.

Eventually, he showed up in her studio again, this time while she was there. After finishing a summoning session where she’d been able to sustain her little light for almost half a minute, Alina had been flushed with success and power, and brimming with ideas for a new painting. She’d set up a fresh new canvas and started blocking in the colors when she felt a presence over her shoulder.

“Are you here to admire my work?” she asked, not turning to look at him right away. Once she’d finished laying in the swatch of orange, she turned and saw him studying the canvas, head cocked slightly in contemplation.

“You won’t be able to see anything yet,” she found herself explaining, “The oils take some time to dry, and this one required a good base layer to build on.”

As always, he made no response. After a moment, he turned from the new canvas to look over some of the others she had set-up in various stages of completion.

“Say whatever you want – I know they’re not master works.” Alina said, following slightly behind him. “But they make me happy.”

He continued to look around silently, taking in all the pieces she’d made over the years, slowly circling the studio. Alina watched his careful evaluation, noting small quirks in his expression, signs of amusement or puzzlement, disdain or contemplation. When he completed his circuit around the room he stopped in front of her again, fixing her with a thoughtful stare before dissolving into the air.

From then on, the studio seemed to be his preferred place to visit her. His appearances didn’t seem to follow a consistent pattern, sometimes being spaced out over weeks, other times just a few days. Over time, they did seem to last longer, but always silent. Alina took to filling the space with her own words, holding one-sided conversations with whatever this specter of the Darkling was as she filled up her canvases.

“What do you think?” she asked him, stepping back from her easel, and looking critically over the painting. At her side, he looked it over, brow furrowed slightly.

“It’s a girl I knew in the First Army. Her name was Ruby. We had been ordinary soldiers together, and she hadn’t cared for me much then. Later, she joined the Soldat Sol, and had completely bought into the story of me as a Saint.” She could see him frown next to her. “I couldn’t understand why she believed it – we’d spent months tromping through the mud, eating terrible rations side by side. She knew I was completely ordinary.”

Alina sighed, looking over the familiar face in her painting, overlaid with the barest hint of someone else’s features, the whole figure wreathed in yellow and reds.

“She was the one we burned next to you on the pyre. Genya made her up to look like me, so Sankta Alina could become a martyr. I know she would have been proud to do it, but –“ Alina looked up to him. “I don’t know if she had a family. I never bothered to ask. But if they’re out there, they never had a chance to say goodbye to her.”

They stood quietly side by side, letting their own thoughts fill the space between them. When Alina turned to look at him again, he was gone.


	8. Part I, Chapter 7

The end of summer brought creeping dread to the Master and Mistress of Keramzin that year. While things at the great manor house were thriving, and the town was doing well, the end of summer meant the approaching, hated anniversary.

This year would mark ten years since the end of the Ravkan Civil War, since the momentous battle on the Fold. Rumors, followed by confirmatory letters, reached them to tell of celebrations being planned in all the cities and villages across Ravka, of the momentous festivities happening in Os Alta. Zoya wrote complaining of state occasions they were being dragged to as a show of Grisha power, while Nikolai’s descriptions of the same events were more enthusiastic, and cheeky.

While less grand than whatever happened in the capitol, the town near Keramzin was determined to put on their own spectacular event. As two of the most prominent people in the area, Alina and Mal had been approached to help coordinate the festivities, but they begged off, trying to assuage their neighbors with funds and supplies rather than their personal involvement. Mal had given in to the requests to help hunt and prepare game for the two days of feasting, while Alina had only submitted to engaging some of the children to prepare flower garlands to decorate the square.

The worst was when the priest had come to Keramzin and had asked Alina if she could, with her contacts at the capitol, might she be able to request an emissary from the Tsar to be present at their festivities to talk about the Civil War and the martyred Sankta? It needn’t be someone at the highest echelons of power, they of course would be busy. Perhaps one of the Grisha who had survived the war? It didn’t have to be one of the Solnyshko – they were too small of a town to attract that kind of interest – though if Mistress Anastasia could ask, it truly would be a feather in their cap to have one of the blessed children of Sankta Alina present for their humble festivities.

Alina had flatly declined to write such a letter and showed him out of the manor immediately. It certainly hadn’t won her any favors from him, but her opinion of religious figures hadn’t been high for years. Mal had grimaced and shared her anger when she told him of the incident, while her silent, shadowy companion had seemed amused as she paced the studio ranting about the request.

“Don’t tell me you would’ve done it for him,” she shot angrily at him as he watched her work out her frustration. “You didn’t like showing off like a trick pony, either.”

The dark figure responded with an elegant half shrug, never losing that amused quirk of the lips.

“I’m sure you find it amusing that he was asking his blessed sankta for help to put on a show about her martyrdom.” Alina snorted, turning away from him to look out at the sun dappled garden outside her window. She focused all of her energy, every iota of anger and annoyance, resignation and sadness, every emotion swirling through her into her light. A ball of bright sunlight grew in her hand, pulsing larger and larger, going from the size of a walnut to a melon. The dazzling light illuminated her and the room for a few seconds, then ten, then twenty, before winking out of view.

“Not much of a sankta now, anyways,” she muttered, snapping her fist closed. From the corner of her eye, she could see a swirl of darkness, and turned to see he had moved next to her. Alina watched as he reached out, as if meaning to grab her wrist, perhaps even her hand. But his spectral form did nothing of the sort, just passing through her. The frustration was visible on his face, and Alina was certain if he could speak, he would’ve sworn. Instead, he fixed her with a heated look before scattering into the shadows.

The week leading up to the momentous anniversary was filled with unsettling dreams for both Mal and Alina. Frequently, she woke up in the night to him calling her name; the only way she was able to calm him was to clench his hands in her and whisper, “I love you, I love you, I’m here and I love you” over and over until the tears and trembling stopped. Her own dreams vanished into the ether on waking, leaving her with an unsettled feeling of being accused of something she couldn’t remember.

On the actual morning, Alina and Mal arose shortly after sunrise, neither having slept through the night. Silently, the helped each other prepare and dress for the occasion, letting touches linger between each step. Downstairs, the staff was cheerfully bustling about, putting together the baskets of foods to bring into town with them. Alina sat at one of the tables they all had been crafting garlands at the day before and absent-mindedly started weaving together daisy circlets while Mal stirred his tea over and over. When the children burst in, they both plastered smiles on their faces, and Alina crowned several of the children with her nervous efforts.

The trip into town was excruciating, with laughing and excitement all around them. Alina and Mal held each other’s hands in death grips as they made their way into the Church of Sankta Agnessa and took up their places among the sea of happy celebrants. She tried to let the words of propaganda wash over her and through her, to focus on remembering the people who had sacrificed everything for this day of celebration. Until certain words from the priest burst through her thought shield.

“Remember Sankta Alina, the Sol Koroleva and Mother of this New Ravka. Remember how she gave her life to bestow her holy gift upon the Solnyshko, continuing to protect Ravka beyond her death. Remember how she used her light to cleanse our beloved Tsar, Nikolai, of the taint of Darkness, blessing his reign. And remember how she defeated the Dark One, ridding Ravka of his taint forever, leaving only her blessed light.”

The speech was so overblown, so incredibly dramatic, and so patently false. Alina couldn’t help herself; she started giggling. Quickly, she tried to cover up the noise, burying her face in Mal’s chest while her shoulders shook with mad laughter. What would they say if they all knew their blessed, perfect, dead saint was alive and well in their midst? That she’d farted, sworn, fucked, cried, and been imperfectly, incredibly human, just like all of them, just in the past week? Or what if they knew their nightmare, the so-called “Dark One” that she’d supposedly defeated was still around, haunting their Sankta with annoying silences and meaningful looks?

It was all too much for Alina, and she had to excuse herself from the church, keeping her shoulders hunched over, face in her hands, hoping to convince everyone she’d been overwhelmed with sadder, more appropriate emotions. Outside, she ducked around the corner and buried her face in her skirts, letting the insane laughter pour out of her.

Mal found her a few minutes later, laughter having turned to tears, though she couldn’t say if they were tears of mirth or tears of misery. He took her in his arms, holding her close as the convulsions slowed, leaving only silent tears dripping down her cheeks. Hand in hand, they headed back into the church, slipping past several of their neighbors who, sighting the tear tracks shining on her face, gave Alina looks of understanding and sympathy while their voices joined in the chorus of prayers.

The service ended without further incident, and the swell of people poured out into the town square to revel in the games, dancing, feasting, and drinking awaiting them. Alina followed reluctantly, feeling thoroughly wrung out and exhausted already. But there was a dance contest to participate in, song performances to applaud, and a show to put on for their neighbors. Alina could feel Mal slipping his hand into hers and give her a squeeze of reassurance; she in turn smiled up at him and mouthed _I love you._

Even if she’d wanted to collapse somewhere and rest, the children of Keramzin would never have allowed it. Following them into the square, Alina helped pass out crowns of bright yellow roses, daisies and buttercups, and was surprised with her own gift of a sunflower crown from two of the oldest girls. When the music started, she and Mal were dragged into the dances, taking turns spinning and leaping with the youngest children and even joining in a peasant dance with their giddy staff members. Later in the afternoon, when Maksim led a chorus of the middle-aged students through several popular folk songs, she clapped enthusiastically, make sure to praise all of them when they ran up to her afterwards.

Finally, as the feast got underway and the ballads and storytelling started, Alina found Kseniya and Stepan. Whispering a request, they nodded at her before turning back to listen to the song of Marya Morevna, letting Alina slip away. She located Mal, took his hand, and pulled him up from his seat, beckoning him to follow. Unquestioning, he did, and hand in hand they quietly snuck away from the festivities and down the beaten track to Keramzin.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Alina spoke into the comfortable silence between them. “I just was too tired to pretend anymore.”

“I get it,” Mal replied, giving a quick squeeze to her hand.

“I’m glad they’re happy, and I’m glad they have a reason to celebrate. But –“

“But sometimes it’s too much to pretend it’s all happy.” Mal finished for her. She nodded, grateful he understood; he was the only one there who understood. The only one there who had been through it all with her.

“I hope everyone else is doing okay today,” she said thoughtfully, mind turning to Zoya and Genya, who would be putting in official appearances today. Or Nikolai, who would be putting on a performance for not just Ravka, but all the ambassadors from Shu Han, Fjerda, Kerch, and Novya Zem, showing a strong, capable tsar glorying in the anniversary of his rise, all while hiding scars his brush with darkness had left on his hands and in his heart.

“They will be, it’s what they do,” Mal replied. “And it’s not really them everyone will be talking about, anyways. Today is different for everyone else; even them.”

Silently, they carried on, moving along the worn dirt road. The day hadn’t ended yet, but the sun was starting to lower in the sky, casting shades of orange and red on the trees. As they neared the gates of Keramzin Alina felt Mal stop beside her.

“What is it?” she asked. He hesitated a moment.

“I need – I just need to go into the woods for a bit. Have a moment alone.” He looked at her, and she could see him beseeching her to understand.

“Of course,” she said, gently touching his face and giving a soft smile. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you,” he gave a fervent kiss to the back of her hand before dropping it and turning around. She watched him walk into the trees and understood the impulse, the emotions going through his head and the feelings he was trying to recapture. Alone, she made her way into the house and found her feet taking her to her studio.

Inside, with the door shut and locked behind her, Alina stood in the window, watching the sun blaze bright as it slowly climbed its way down the horizon. The colored lights played on her face, and she extended a hand, calling her own ball of light into her palm. It burned bright and strong, if not quite matching the brilliance of the one in the sky. She stared at it, watching it flicker, when a voice spoke behind her.

“Alina.”

She turned, expecting to see Mal at the door. But instead, she only saw him.

Her eyes grew round, and her mouth parted to speak, but no words would come. Still, the light shone in her hand, lighting on the Darkling, brightening his shadows. His own eyes widened, nearly imperceptibly, before sweeping over her from head to toe.

“You,” she moved one step forward, still struggling to find words. “Was that – did you -?”

“Alina,” he said again. His smooth, low voice was achingly familiar, and Alina could hardly believe she was hearing him, again, ten years after watching his corpse burn. He stepped closer to her, gaze lingering on the light in her hand, the crown of sunflowers still on her head, down to her lips and ending on her eyes. Reaching out, his fingers stopped just short of her face.

“You are crowned by sunlight,” he said, and she could read the longing in his face, the wonder in his voice before he vanished into the shadows again.


	9. Part I, Chapter 8

Mal found her there, stock still in the darkness, staring at nothing. Alarmed, he rushed to her, calling her name, but she couldn’t look away from the spot where the Darkling had been. Had he really spoken? What had his looks meant? Had she gone mad from the stress of this day and the past week?

Absently, Alina could feel Mal taking her hand and leading her out of the room. They climbed the stairs and made it to their bedroom, where she was sat upon the edge of the bed. Her hand was still in his, and she could feel him chafing it between his, could hear him call her name again and again. His frantic calls grew louder and louder, begging her to wake up, to look at him, to say something –

“Alina.” The dark voice said, and she snapped out of fugue, looking around for the source.

“Alina!”

No, it was just Mal. Focusing her gaze, she saw her husband kneeling in front of her, face lined with panic. Their eyes met, she whispered his name, and he slumped in relief before crushing her in a frantic embrace.

“Alina, Alina,” he repeated her name over and over, holding her close. Tentatively, she wrapped her arms around his back, then reciprocated his tight squeeze.

“I’m fine,” she affirmed, “It’s alright Mal, it’s okay. I’m here, I’m fine.”

They clung to each other for several minutes more, Alina repeating her reassurances, before Mal was willing to loosen his hold on her. When he did, pulling back to look over her face for signs of illness or injury, he maintained a firm hold, unwilling to lose the connection between them.

“What happened? You weren’t responding, you weren’t moving.”

“I don’t know. It was –“ But she didn’t know how to explain. She’d been keeping so many secrets; how could she try to explain it all now?

“I was standing in the darkness, and I could – I could see him. I could hear him.” She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see Mal’s face as he reacted, when the anger would overcome him.

“Oh, Alina,” his voice was gentle, his hand moving up to softly stroke her hair. Uncertain, she opened her eyes and saw sympathy there. “I’m so sorry. These weeks have been terrible for you. All the memories, especially today – it was just a flashback, Alina. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

A flashback? No, it hadn’t been that. Both Alina and Mal had suffered their share of flashbacks in the first years after the end of the war, as had Nikolai, and Zoya, and all of their friends. She knew what a flashback felt like, with the panic, the loss of reality. Flashbacks, while painful, were just a memory.

Alina opened her mouth to refute Mal, to try and explain everything, but stopped as the words rose in her throat. She couldn’t explain why he was wrong, why what she saw had been real without explaining how she had been seeing the Darkling for over a year. Which would also require explaining her fears of his connection to the bracelet on her wrist. Which would require telling Mal about the return of her powers. And that was a conversation with Mal - a confrontation with a truth she knew deep inside - that she wasn’t prepared to face yet.

“I love you.” Alina poured all the emotions and affection and longing she possessed into the words. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’ll always be here,” he promised, pulling her close again, and not letting go until the sun came up.

Alina woke late the next morning, still in her festive wear from the celebration and pressed tightly again Mal. Her sleepy movements roused him in turn, and they took in each other’s faces while they slowly blinked themselves awake.

“Morning,” Mal said in a voice husky with sleep. Alina gave a small smile before returning his greeting.

“How are you? Are you feeling better?”

“Much better.”

“No nightmares?”

“No nightmares.” She confirmed. A happy, contented smile spread over his face, making her heartbeat speed up its rhythm. Leaning in to steal a kiss, she was interrupted by a loud, angry gurgle from her stomach.

“Maybe we should take care of that, first.” Alina shoved a pillow at his shit-eating grin, provoking laughter from Mal while she huffed over to their wardrobe. Quickly, the two got dressed and made their way downstairs to the kitchen. A few of the staff members were only just rising from their own late nights, grimacing in pain when the shouts and steps of the children of Keramzin thundered up and down the hallway.

There was another day of festivities going on in the town near Keramzin, and several of the staff members and few of the oldest children had already secured permission to go. Alina and Mal had volunteered to keep things in order in the manor for the day, so even those not going into town had a free afternoon to enjoy as they saw fit. Making quick work of their breakfasts, the master and mistress of Keramzin shooed off their staff and turned their attention to the thirty or so children left to their care for the day.

Taking care of near three dozen children with a whole team of other adults was a fairly exhausting task in itself; attending to the same number with only the two of them required all of Alina’s energy and mind power. A non-stop day of running through the apple orchards, playing with dolls, teaching drawing, telling stories, tending to scrapes and bruises, and playing tag left Alina no time to think over what had happened the night before. The endless changing, and brushing, and soothing, and scolding required to put the same number of children to bed sapped all her remaining reserves, and she collapsed into bed that night ready for a deep sleep without the plague of doubts or reflection.

When she awoke the next day, she found the benefit of passed time made it easier to think on what had happened in her studio that night. She knew, without any doubt, that he – the Darkling – had been there, and that he had spoken. Was this a one-time event, a hallucination brought on by the stress of being forced to think about that last battle on the Fold? Possibly. Though, Alina thought with a vivid blush, she certainly wouldn’t have picked those words to come from his mouth.

So, perhaps not a hallucination. A visitation, the kind they used to be able to make through the strange link between them? No, that seemed even less likely. After recovering from the shock, Alina had tried to feel down that link between them again and found nothing at the end. Her mind told her that it was maybe more solid, not reaching into the _entire_ vastness of the universe, but she knew it was just her rationality grasping at straws.

And then there was the fact that Kostya had seen him, or seen something like him, in her studio. Back then, when Alina and the Darkling had been linked, no one had ever been able to see them across the link, apart from themselves. Nor would a hallucination be visible to anyone else. But there was no way he could be a true, living thing. Alina had plunged the knife into him herself, had held him as his heart stopped beating, and had watched as the fires had consumed his flesh, till all that was left was the lock of hair she kept around her wrist.

Despite her musing, Alina couldn’t come up with an explanation. When she went into her studio now, she tried calling for him, and as she moved around Keramzin, she kept watch out of the corner of her eye for a telltale flicker of shadow. Of course, now that she was actively seeking him out, he decided not to appear, leaving her frustrated and confused. Well, she just wouldn’t think about him then, Alina decided, ignoring the way her hand absentmindedly drifted to her wrist to touch the relic there.

Besides, the annual festival always heralded the arrival of autumn, which meant a whole host of activities for the residents of Keramzin. Mal took any of the kids who wanted to join him out into the woods, teaching the basics of tracking and hunting. The orchards were bursting with ripe apples, and Alina frequently stole the children from their lessons to join her in climbing the trees to liberate the juiciest fruits for snacking.

When it came time, a small army of children, along with some laborers hired from the town, made quick work of the apple harvest, stripping the trees of all but the hardest, unripe fruit in a week. Alina sent several bushels, along with monetary payment, home with the laborers, and treated all of the children of Keramzin to apple tarts with their tea. The loss of fruit made the orchard a less popular place for all but the most determined of tree climbers, and Alina found herself often wandering the rows between the trees alone, watching the birds and small creatures that helped themselves to the remains of the harvest.

Some weeks after the trees had been stripped and autumn colors started creeping into the leaves, Alina saw him again. She’d taken off on one of her solitary rambles when her mind was too full for painting, and saw him suddenly appear beside her, as she crossed from the orchard into her and Mal’s meadow.

“So now you show yourself again,” she said, not breaking stride.

“I found it took more effort than I expected.”

She stopped and turned to him, heart beating furiously.

“You can speak. How? And why now?”

“I do not actually have all the answers to the universe, Alina,” he responded with a droll quirk of his lips. She rolled her eyes, not concealing a huff of frustration.

“Well then, why are you here? Just to torment me? I had enough of that the first time around.”

He didn’t respond, and Alina could feel her irritation battling with her curiosity. Slowly, she reached out to him, moving to rest her hand on his upper arm. But it didn’t stop; instead it moved into the space where his arm should be, giving Alina the feeling her hand was moving through a dense fog. She withdrew it, and looked up at him, dumbfounded.

“What are you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, never looking away from her. Alina searched his face, looking for some sign of deceit or cunning, but only saw an unfamiliar expression of uncertainty.

“Then why? Why are you here?”

“Like calls to like,” he moved closer, starting to reach out before abruptly stopping. “Whatever I am, Alina, I seem to still be drawn to you.”

“Aleksander,” she could see the satisfaction sweep over him as she whispered his name. He leaned forward and breathed into her ear, “I will be back, my Alina.”

And he was gone.

Alina saw him three more times that autumn, though he didn’t speak on any of those occasions. She pressed him for answers as to where he went, what he saw, but he didn’t answer. Annoyed, she would stop asking questions and turn back to her paintings or her wanderings, but she could feel him linger, and would see him watching her or following her. It seemed at these silent times he lingered longer, smiling at the sarcastic comments she flung at him or gazing thoughtfully at her paintings as she explained her process. Despite her annoyance at his lack of speech, Alina surprised herself by acknowledging she appreciated even these silent visits.

He appeared again, a week before the feast of Sankt Nikolai. All of the teachers of Keramzin had finally succumbed to the children’s pleas for freedom and festivities and led all them out into the snow to collect boughs of evergreens and scour for sprigs of holly and mistletoe to make into garlands to decorate the parlor. Mal had happily bounded out with the rest of them after placing a kiss on her temple and a hot mug of chocolate in her hands. Safe and warm in doors, with no one to disturb her for at least a couple of hours, Alina locked herself in her studio to practice her summoning.

The light was getting brighter and stronger, and she could hold it for longer and longer periods of time. With no one around, she was free to really stretch herself, forcing the light out as big and as bright as she could, filling the room with the warmth of her personal sun. Letting the light retreat back inside her after forcing it into the entire room for a count of 100, Alina saw him standing near her side.

“Did you see?” she asked, grinning broadly, unaware of the glow she continued to radiate, “I filled the whole room!”

“Quite admirable,” he said with a small smile. Alina could feel the genuine praise under his cool façade.

“My control is getting better, too.” To demonstrate, she created a shining ball in her hands, and then focused it into a narrow beam. Tilting her hands, she shone the beam at the wall, creating a concentrated circle of light, before bringing it downwards to a glass of water, where the light refracted and cast a rainbow on the wall. Abruptly, the light disappeared, as Alina dropped her hand.

“I know it’s not the Cut, or even close to what I could do before, but after so many years when it was gone –“ she didn’t finish her sentence, but then again, she didn’t need to. If anyone would understand what she meant, it was him.

“Why do you only practice here, or alone in fields?” he asked. Alina shot him a look, scowling. Why did he have to ruin her mood?

“I’m supposed to be dead; I can’t let anyone see me summoning _now_ , after all this time. A normal otkazat’sya wouldn’t suddenly be shooting light from her palms.”

“A normal otkazat’sya would not be able to.”

The two locked eyes, Alina glaring at his mild, neutral expression. He broke first, giving a sigh before fixing her with a look tinted by the slightest hint of sorrow.

“You will not be able to hide your true self for long, Alina.”

“Who says I’m hiding myself?” she shot back, anger seeping through her at the old argument. “I’ve made a life for myself here, the kind I always hoped for. I have a family, people who love me. No one’s trying to kill me or use me. Instead I get to sleep every night next to the man I love, and spend my days in peace, helping children who are just like I was.”

He didn’t respond, just making her angrier. Summoning a light to her hand, she shot the beam at him, but it merely passed through, eliciting the barest wince. Furious, she curled her hands into fists, before lashing out in a habitual slash, knowing it was a mere facsimile of her once astounding power. Behind him, a slight tear cut through one of her canvases, drawing both their attention.

Dumbfounded, she tiptoed forward, peering closely to examine the result of her Cut. It was small; it would doubtless have caused only the smallest wound on a person. But she’d done it. The most difficult of Grisha skills was hers again.

“I didn’t mean to-“ she whispered, touching the sliced canvas, feeling the still wet oils on her fingertips.

“And yet the power was there.” He said over her shoulder. Peering back at him, she could see quite plainly his eyes fixed on her, asking her to deny the overt display in front of them. “You are unique even among Grisha, Alina. Certainly never just a normal otkazat’sya.”

“But – I’m not –“ Alina sputtered over her words, trying to find the words to say what she meant, what she wanted to say. The truth she’d spoken over and over was there, at the front of her mind, and the tip of her tongue; but something different, words buried deep in her heart stirred, and she couldn’t bring herself to say them.

“I chose this life,” she settled on, raising her chin defiantly. “In the end, I got to decide what I wanted, what would make me happy. And I chose this.”

“Then I will wait for you to choose again.”


	10. Part I, Chapter 9

Their guests from Os Alta couldn’t come soon enough for Alina. Her argument with the Darkling had left her on edge for several days, liable to snap at the children, her staff, or even Mal. The instant after, she was filled with remorse and apologized profusely, but the ill-feeling remained, squirming inside her, along with his words. She hoped, prayed even, that the arrival of Genya, Zoya and David would distract her and clear her mind again.

As always, they arrived two days before the Feast of Sankt Nikolai, laden with gifts and goodies, delighting all the residents of Keramzin. They swept up the drive and through the door in a pleasant swirl of activity and color, slipping sweets to the students crowding in the hallway and greeting their hosts with tight embraces. Relaxing in the parlor with strong tea and her old friends seemed just the cure Alina needed, and she felt the tension in her slip away with Zoya’s imperious looks and Genya’s dirty jokes.

The next day was full of the usual games and merry-making that ruled over the eve of Sankt Nikolai. The weather had held, creating a brilliantly cold and bright day, perfect for outdoor games and sports – at least for those who found the joy of playing in the snow to outweigh the discomfort of being wet and cold. David let himself be coaxed outdoors for a short while, and even Alina agreed to at least venture outside for a few minutes, though she drew the line at falling into the snow to make angel outlines.

In the midst of a great snowball fight, Zoya sneakily summoned up a gust, sending the snow flying off the roof and dumping great flakes all over the yard. Alina laughed at the sight while hastily retreating to the safety of the indoors, Zoya quick on her heels to avoid any retribution.

The two stamped the snow from their boots at the door before retreating to the great parlor where some of the children who were less enthralled by snow were playing near the fireplace under the watchful eye of Kseniya and her assistant teacher, Darya. Alina gave them a nod and a smile while she and Zoya moved to the far window where they could continue to watch the fun outside without being frozen through themselves.

“I wasn’t expecting David to get so into the snow fight.” Alina remarked, watching the bodies outside jump and dive, the sounds of raucous laughter filtering through the window.

“When Genya peels him from his workbench, he can be surprisingly childlike,” Zoya replied, not able to hide the smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “And of all of us, he deserves a chance to relax.”

“What do you mean?” Zoya glanced around the room, taking in the distance between the pair of them and the children by the fireplace, before leaning closer to Alina.

“Negotiations are not going well with the Shu,” she explained in an undertone, keeping a subtle watch on their potential eavesdroppers. “We’ve had more incursions on the borders, and there aren’t enough soldiers or Grisha to spread out. David’s been leading development on new defenses that can withstand the Shu machinery, and require less people to hold a strategic point.”

“Will there be another draft?” Alina asked in a whisper, looking fearfully over her young charges. She’d created this place so they wouldn’t be forced to escape into the army, like she did. These precious orphans deserved a chance to choose a life for themselves.

“We hope not. If some of these new weapons work, and we can train up the soldiers in how to use them, we’ll be able to meet Shu Han blow for blow, and drive them to negotiations.

“But –“ Zoya hesitated a moment, before whispering, “We’re losing the Solnyshko.”

“What?” Alina’s brain exploded in a jumble of panicked thoughts. What did Zoya mean? How could they be losing Sun Summoners? Was it her fault? Looking up, wide-eyed at Zoya, she saw a shadow over her friend’s shoulder, and stopped breathing as she saw him there. Silent and black, he leaned slightly forward, as if listening to Zoya’s news.

“They’re being taken. We’ve lost three to Shu strike forces, attacking our troops’ camps just to extract the Solnyshko. And on the Fjerdan border, one was taken by a druskelle who had snuck into camp. The encampment found her body burned in the woods the next day.”

Alina’s mind was split; one half hearing Zoya’s words and shuddering, the other looking over at the other people in the room, wondering when they would turn and notice the strange man in black who had joined the women’s tete-a-tete. All the children seemed happily focused on their games, and the teachers’ backs were to them at the window. Looking back over Zoya’s shoulder, she saw a frown and shadow of anger cross over his face.

“We should have realized they would be targets,” Zoya said apologetically, “They went through the same self defense and battle training as every other Summoner. It never occurred to us they would need special training to protect themselves.”

The Darkling was shaking his head behind Zoya, clearly dissatisfied with this excuse. Alina tore her eyes from him and looked back at Zoya.

“Which ones?”

“Daniil Fedorov, Agafea Novikoff; they had both been part of the Soldat Sol before. They were taken in camp raids on the Shu Han border. Erik Lavanssen – he’d been an oprichniki before the Fold – was captured in a battle and hasn’t been heard from. And Polina Bilibin was the one taken by the Druskelle.”

Alina closed her eyes, trying to force faces to rise up in her memory. Many of the Solnyshko she’d never met, or had only passing interactions with, prior to imbuing them with her power. After – well, after she had no chance to meet them after. She was dead, wasn’t she? But she knew all of their names. A year after the battle, after losing her powers, she’d asked Genya to tell her who they all were, and she’d received a long letter with forty or so names, and all Genya could learn about them from before they became Sun Summoners.

“Once we realized they were being targeted, we recalled all the Solnyshko to Os Alta,” Zoya went on, squeezing Alina’s arm in reassurance. “We’re working with both the First and Second Army commanders to come up with plans on how to better prepare their units for possible targeted attacks and develop protections for them.”

Alina wasn’t sure what to say. Her eyes drifted from Zoya, looking uncharacteristically contrite, to the man sitting behind her, eyes stormy and face clenched in a frown. He locked eyes with Alina, and she could feel her sorrow, his anger, passing between them wordlessly. In the next moment, he disappeared, fading into the shadows, leaving Alina alone with Zoya again.

“They didn’t ask for this,” she finally said. Just as she hadn’t asked to be special. Alina could easily understand what it would have been like for them because it was what had happened to her – powers suddenly appearing after a lifetime of being something else, being _someone_ else. A whole new life thrust upon them by her.

“None of us ask for war,” Zoya tried to be consoling, though Alina wryly noted it wasn’t her best skill, “They agreed to fight for Ravka, though. They wanted to use their powers for us all.”

“Maybe they would’ve thought twice if they knew what that really meant.” Alina dryly remarked. Zoya looked as if she would say more, but before she could, a snowball crashed into the window next to them. Looking out, they saw Mal grinning cheekily up at them with two of the children, who were aiming fresh projectiles at the window.

“Don’t you dare break my windows!” Alina shouted out the window, knowing they wouldn’t be able to hear her clearly, but hoping her expression and tone would be apparent. When the children cocked their arms back to aim, Zoya opened the window a crack and caught the projectiles in midair, sending them flying back into the snow drifts beyond.

“I swear by all the saints, if any of these windows break and I am forced to sit in a room full of cold air, none of you will live to see the new year.” Zoya warned, fixing them with her commanding and unbending glare. The children immediately apologized and ran away, not wanting to face Miss Zoya’s wrath, while Mal just laughed and laughed. With a haughty tilt of her head, Zoya closed the window on all of them, brushing some non-existent frost off her kefta.

“It has become much too chilly over here,” she declared, rising and making her way to the fire. One of the girls on the rug there looked up, and started showing Zoya her drawing, explaining all the people and animals arrayed in crayon. Alina looked briefly back out the window, smiling at Mal’s wave, before going to fetch some hot tea and cocoa for her ruffled guest.

Sankt Nikolai’s Day was stuffed full of the usual noise and gaiety one would expect when a giant house is run by children. All the adults took part in distributing gifts and sweets, ensuring everyone got their fair share and no one stuffed themselves quite to the point of sickness. In the midst of all the ripped paper, scattered toys and books and gleeful shouts, Alina found time to cuddle with Mal, laugh with Genya, and toast a cup of well-spiked cider with all of the staff. And when the children exhausted themselves into slumber, letting quiet settle over Keramzin, the five former comrades-in-arms were able to gather in front of the fire and share stories of the past year.

The day after Sankt Nikolai, Alina found herself waking earlier than normal, especially after such a late night. The sun was just starting to crawl up over the horizon, and something in the moment drew Alina to watch it. Pulling on her warm, fur-lined robe, she settled in the window, watching the sky become brushed with pinks and oranges and abstractedly called her own little light that she let play and dance in her hand. A shadow shifted in her peripheral vision, and she turned to see him settling into the other corner of the windowsill.

“Not going to pop-up in the middle of breakfast?” she asked sarcastically, keeping her words low and soft to not wake Mal.

“And why would I do that?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You didn’t seem to mind popping up in the middle of the parlor with everyone there.”

“Why would that matter when only you see me?”

“Its not just me, anymore. Kostya saw you lurking in my studio once.”

“Is that so?” His expression turned thoughtful. “How interesting.”

“Interesting? That’s all you can say? This is different than before. What is happening?”

“I told you that I did not have all the answers, Alina. So much of the nature of merzost is unknown to us.”

“So, you’re here because of merzost?”

“That would be the most reasonable explanation. You and I, we have powers unlike any other Grisha. Moreover, we have both used merzost, not just against each other, but to create something new, beyond ourselves. Why could it not break the barriers, for us, between life and death?”

Alina was silent. It wasn’t because she had nothing to say; she needed to think on if she should speak. Because her mind was returning to a memory, a story told to her once by an old woman, a daughter telling the story of a terrible, powerful father. The most powerful Grisha who had ever lived, who had crossed the lines between life and death to save a beloved child. With merzost.

“You need to go,” she finally said, looking back out at the rising sun, now peeping its way over the treetops. “No matter what you are now, I can’t let Zoya, Genya and David see you.”

“Afraid of your friends’ reactions, Alina?”

“Yes.” She said simply. “Especially when I don’t know how to explain what you are, or what I am now.”

The silence was thick with pressure and anticipation, while he studied her and she, in turn, did her best not to look his way.

“Very well. I will let you keep hiding, for now.”

“Thank you, Aleksander.” She flicked her eyes towards him and saw a moment of confusion pass over his face. Clearly, thanks was not what he was expecting. He nodded his head, acknowledging her words.

“Farewell for now, my Alina.” And, having gotten the last word again, he dissipated and was gone.

Alina gave herself a few moments to sit and collect her thoughts before she quietly left the bedroom and made her way downstairs. The kitchen was empty this early in the morning, so Alina prodded the coals in the stove back to life and put on a kettle to heat. Poking into the cupboards, she decided this was exactly the kind of day that called for dipping into their rare, limited store of coffee beans. Pulling out a spice grinder, she set to work churning up the roasted beans when a new person joined her.

“Oh, Alina! I mean, Anastasia. Sorry; it’s hard to remember. Is there tea?” David had wandered in, hair sticking every which way.

“Not yet, but I can make you some. Unless you’d like coffee?”

“You have coffee?” His voice rose in excitement. Alina gave a little laugh in response.

“Go ahead and have a seat. I’m just getting everything ground up.” She quietly worked, getting the toasty beans coarsely ground and then pouring them into the pot. Another minute or two of waiting, and the kettle sang out shrilly before Alina pulled it off the oven and poured the water over the grounds. Placing the pot on a tray along with the filter, two cups, a small saucer of cream and a dish of sugar cubes, she carried the whole thing over to the small table where David sat, fingers tapping in anticipation.

Alina didn’t attempt to make small talk while waiting for the coffee to brew; it would be pointless with David. His social skills had improved somewhat with proximity to Genya, but in the end he simply didn’t care for the more inane niceties. With David, it was best to just speak directly.

“Do you still have Morozova’s journals?” Alina asked into the silence. David’s hands stilled, though his shoulders seemed to perk up at the topic.

“Oh yes, they’re incredibly useful. Some of the new defenses we’re trying out for the Southern border are based on concepts he designed, though Nikolai has added some touches of his own.”

“Do the journals – does Morozova say anything in there about overcoming death? Or about resurrection?”

David looked taken aback by the question and frowned a little.

“I don’t think - no, definitely not. There are discussions of merzost and the limits of its power, which I would think would include bringing back the dead. Not even the strongest Heartrender or Healer has been able to do that. And Morozova was a Fabrikator primarily, even if he was able to do incredible things with his power.”

“But then how did someone like the Darkling, or Baghra live so long? Was that merzost?”

“Well, Grisha power extends life; that’s a fact. And the stronger the Grisha, the longer they can live, assuming they’re not killed by outside causes. So, for incredibly strong Grisha like the Darkling, its not completely unfathomable that their powers keep them alive even longer.”

“Centuries longer?” David shrugged.

“No one knows why Grisha power gives longer life. It’s probably a kind of merzost that inhabits all of us. But even in the case of the Darkling, a long life didn’t mean he couldn’t be killed.”

Alina shifted uneasily; nothing David was saying matched up with what she knew. Morozova had brought someone back from death. The Darkling hadn’t been killed.

“So, no mentions of immortality, extending life or raising the dead.”

“Not that I’ve seen. I’ve read every page in there again and again. He had so many brilliant ideas, and we can only really understand a fraction of them. Of course,” David turned thoughtful, running his hand through his hair, somehow making it more disorderly. “Of course, it’s possible there’s somehow another lost journal out there. Not terribly likely, but not impossible.”

“Where would it be?” David shrugged in response.

“The Darkling had collected all of the ones we have, and I heard he scoured the world tracking all of them down. I don’t think he would have missed one. But we can’t really ask him now.”

“No, I suppose not.” Alina said, shifting to pour out the coffee for the two of them. Passing a cup to David, she then dropped a couple sugar cubes in her own cup. After a moment, she asked, “Could I see them? If I ever go to Os Alta again?”

“What, the journals? Of course! Nikolai had copies made, just for safety, in case anything happened to the originals. But we keep the originals stored in the workshop. You could come and see them there and see some of the new devices we’re working on. I’ve been working on smaller, portable versions of the disks we made for the Little Palace back during the Civil War-“

David started chattering on, happily explaining all the intricate details of his work and plans they were putting in place for testing new weapon, totally unaware of how little sense much of it made to his audience. His flow on nonsensical words suited Alina just fine; it gave her room to think on all the morning had revealed to her until the kitchen staff came in and the household woke to begin their day.


	11. Part I, Chapter 10

Genya, Zoya and David left, as always, a few days after the feast of Sankt Nikolai, their sleigh considerably lighter than when it had arrived. Remembering the arguments from last year, Alina ensured she kept a cheerful face and disposition in front of Mal and the children, reserving her thoughts and reflections for the precious moments she had alone. The Darkling didn’t return in those first few weeks, leaving her to ruminate on her own over the Solnyshko, over Ravka’s enemies, over merzost, and over what she should – what she _could_ do.

Needing to talk to someone, even over just a part of what was circling through her mind, Alina decided to confide in Mal. Truly, he should be the first person she turned to. With any other trouble or thought, she would run to tell him everything. Perhaps it was time to finally open up and trust him with this secret that she had been nurturing. Together, they would be able to decide what to do.

Firm in her decision, Alina approached their regular afternoon tea with a plan. They had sat in their parlor, curled up on the sofa together, ready to share snippets of their day with each other.

“If the weather holds, this would be a good time to take some of the students out on a hunting trip,” Mal said, handing Alina a freshly prepared cup of tea, sweetened to her exact preference. “Maksim heard people in town complaining about wolves attacking livestock and said there’s plans to get a hunting party together. I know Fyodor, Ivan and Marya have wanted to learn more about how to hunt and track in the winter.”

“When would you go?”

“I expect in the next few days. I’ll need to go with Maksim into town tomorrow to find out what their plans are.”

“We should be fine here,” Alina said, mentally reviewing the current state of Keramzin’s residents and stores. “Ivan has seemed restless since Sankt Nikolai’s; hopefully some activity out of the house will help.”

“I think it’s just that he’s a 16-year-old boy,” Mal laughed, “He’s anxious to get out in the world and prove he’s a man.”

“Which he’s not.” Alina pointed out.

“Every 16-year-old boy thinks he’s a man. I could hardly wait to get out of here and join the army at that age.”

“You couldn’t wait to escape Ana Kuya,” she corrected, earning a cheeky smile. “We are much kinder and freer with him than she ever was.”

“Doesn’t matter how nice we are, Alina. He’s determined that he’ll be ready to strike out on his own in the spring.”

“And I don’t suppose we can stop him,” Alina sighed.

“No, we can’t. But we can make sure he knows he can always come back here, whenever he wants, no matter where he goes.”

“I suppose so.” Alina took a deep sip of her tea. Was now the right moment? Would she be able to segue to her thoughts? After a moment’s hesitation, she plunged forward.

“What if _we_ travelled this spring?”

“Oh? Where would you want to go?”

“I’d like to go to Os Alta.” Alina could see Mal’s body already start to stiffen and rushed to try and explain herself. “Nikolai can’t visit us, at least not for a long time. And Tamar won’t leave his side. I’d like to see them again and have a chance to spend more time with Genya and Zoya.”

“Alina, you’re supposed to be dead. You can’t just show up at the Capitol and visit the Tsar.”

“Why not? I’m not Alina anymore; I’m just a otkazat’sya peasant, running an orphanage.”

“Exactly! A normal peasant wouldn’t be able to get an audience with the tsar. People will be suspicious. And there’s plenty of people in Os Alta who would still remember your face and remember me.”

“It’s been 10 years, Mal! Memories have faded or changed, even. No one will connect us, humble folk from the countryside, with a dead saint and her protector.” Alina’s voice was rising along with her frustration. Across from her, Mal was just as defiant and riled.

“It doesn’t matter how long it’’s been, Alina. You don’t understand how much you stuck out, and how much you meant to people. They’ll know it’s you, and then we’ll never have peace again.”

“We can disguise ourselves!” Alina argued, “Genya can Tailor us so no one will know who we are.”

“Why do you want to go so badly? Are you so bored here? Its only been a month – are you already missing them that much?” Mal was getting defensive and petulant; Alina knew underneath it was his worry at losing her but, oh, it was so exhausting. How could she explain to him what was percolating in her mind, the questions and secrets she’d been trying to puzzle out, when he got this defensive at the mere suggestion of a trip to Os Alta?

Under a wave of irritation, she shouted out the first thing that jumped to her tongue, “The Solnyshko are being killed, Mal!”

“What?”

“The Solnyshko are being killed. The Shu and the Fjerdans are targeting them specifically. Four were captured or murdered this year.”

“That’s awful,” he looked genuinely sorrowful, gratifying Alina. At least this was something they could talk about! But then his brow furrowed, and he continued, “But what can we do about that?”

“They’re not getting the training they need. There’s no one at the Little Palace who can teach them how to Summon, not their unique way. And the Armies haven’t been prepared to protect them properly.”

“Then that’s something the generals need to figure out,” Mal retorted. “They have the entire First Army to protect them, and all the most powerful Grisha to teach them how to do whatever it is they need to do.”

“But none of them know how to summon light, Mal. None of them know how to do the Cut, or bend light to make things invisible, or – or-“

“There weren’t any Sun Summoners to teach you either, and you figured it out.”

“I had Baghra and the Da-and him! They at least knew what that kind of power meant, what it felt like!”

Alina watched Mal’s face become stony with her outburst and his whole body shifted, becoming tense and closed off.

“I can help them. I can at least teach them what to feel for and how to access their powers.”

“And why would they listen to a peasant otkazat’sya telling them how to make sunlight?” His words were cold and biting, cutting through to Alina’s heart. “Or do you want to bring the martyred saint back to life?”

“I don’t-“

“You’re not a saint anymore, Alina. You’re just a normal, boring _otkazat’sya_ ,” Mal spat the word out, rising to his feet. Glaring down at her, he said bitterly, “I thought this is what you wanted. Being here, with me, just a normal boy and a girl. I guess those promises are harder to keep now that you can’t find an excuse to keep dragging you away from this life.”

He stalked out of the room, leaving Alina hunched over, tears streaming down her face and heart bleeding from the power of his cut.

Alina hid herself away the rest of the day, and went to bed early, avoiding any contact with Mal. At some point in the night, he must have joined her, because she woke to see him lying there, back to her, snoring softly. Anger rose in her, thinking over his words again, and again, and she had to get up and leave to keep from lashing out at him while he slept. Downstairs, she begged a cup of strong tea from the cook and retreated to her studio to slash at her canvases with brushes and oils until the morning noises rose too high for concentration.

Mal seemed just as determined to avoid her and took off shortly after breakfast for the town, with Maksim and the three oldest children in tow. Alina assisted with geography lessons that morning before escaping out into the snow-covered orchard and meadows around Keramzin. She got as far away as she could, putting a section of forest and a decent sized hill between her and the manor before she let out a great scream, channeling all her frustration into her light.

A great blaze rose up out of her, surrounding her in a dome of light that reached almost as high as the top of the hill. She held it, pushing out the light with all her might, just as she forced the scream out of her throat; pushing past barriers her body threw up, pushing more air out of her lungs, more power out of her hands. At the end of her long scream, she slashed both her arms out wide, willing her Cuts to sow as much destruction as possible.

In the aftermath of her outburst, saw two great furrows in the ground, both as long as a man, and near two feet deep.

“Oh, Saints.” Alina crouched in the snow, examining the furrows. She had used so much power, more than she had in a decade. Her skin was flush with the exertion, and an exhausted thrill ran through her, like she’d just run for several miles. The displaced dirt was warm to her touch.

“What have you done, Alina?” she whispered to herself. On trying to rise to her feet again, she found herself slightly woozy, like when rising out of bed after a long fever. She took a moment to steady herself, to find balance on her wobbly legs, and slowly trekked back to Keramzin.

In the manor, she paused in the hallway, trying to decide if she should tell someone she was back when the assistant teacher, Darya passed through.

“Good day, ma’am! How-“ she paused, took a look at Alina’s flushed face, and gasped, “Mistress Anastasia, are you alright?”

“I think I may have caught a fever,” Alina replied, voice hoarse from the damage her screams made to her throat, “Would you please tell Kseniya I’m going to bed? And have her or the cook send up some tea in a few hours?”

“Of course! Let me help you first, you don’t look very well.” Darya came over and took Alina’s arm, helping to steady her. With a frown, she put a hand on Alina’s forehead and let out a ‘tsk’. “You are burning up, ma’am. What were you doing outdoors?”

“I felt fine when I left. This just snuck up on me while I was walking.”

Darya shook her head, giving a little scoff of disbelief under her breath, but nonetheless helped Alina up the stairs and into her room. Setting her mistress down on the side of the bed, she asked “Do you need any help with your boots? Or your coat?”

Alina shook her head, anxious to be alone again.

“No, no, I’ll be fine. All I need is some sleep.”

“Very well. I’ll let Kseniya know where you are. I hope you feel better soon.”

Darya left, and Alina set to removing her outwear. It was difficult to work the buttons and laces with her fingers trembling from exhaustion and excitement. She could feel the power flowing through her, filling up the channels she’d forced open with her outburst. Finally divested of clothing, she laid back on the bed, too warm to crawl under the covers, mind racing even as her body sunk into the mattress, becoming loose with the pull of sleep. She didn’t even notice when her thoughts shifted into the world of dreams.

_She was digging through her wardrobe, trying to find something to wear. There were endless dresses and tunics, all shapeless and indistinct, but none of them felt right. Alina pulled back, trying to think of what she wanted._

_“I found it, Alina,” Mal said, pulling her over to a mirror set up right next to the wardrobe. He held up a pair of simple peasant tunic and trousers, and when she looked in the mirror she saw she was wearing them. The dark green and brown of the clothes looked completely ordinary, like things she wore most days around Keramzin, with supple leather boots covering the thick wool socks she could feel on her feet. Her brown hair was braided back, like she used to do her Army days._

_Looking at herself in the mirror, Alina knew this wasn’t what she was looking for._

_“I’m not sure, Mal,” she said, returning to the wardrobe to look again. Rustling through, she caught sight of something blue, and she knew this one was right. Reaching in deep, she pulled out a kefta, the familiar feel of Grisha-woven wool sliding over her fingers. Moving to the mirror, she pulled it on, and reveled in the sight of herself in the deep blue, gold embroidery catching the light as she turned to examine herself._

_“No, no, not that,” Mal said, trying to tug it off of her. He held up something brown and shapeless, and she was staring at herself in the mirror wearing her old First Army uniform, down to the oversized brown coat. “This one fits you better.”_

_“I want the kefta,” she replied, pulled it back from him, and slipping it back over her shoulders._

_“But you don’t need it! This coat suited you just fine.”_

_Alina ignored him, running her fingers over the lines of the kefta, the ridges of the embroidery. This was better, but there was still something missing._

_“A better fit. But you deserve more than the common blue.”_

_She turned and saw the Darkling looking over her. He flicked his fingers, calling up a sheet of shadow that he draped around her shoulders. Looking back at the mirror, she saw herself in a rich black kefta, the gold embroidery more elaborate and lustrous against the dark background._

_“Much better,” he said, and she could see a possessive smile flicker across his face._

_“I prefer the blue,” she said with a scowl, wiping away the black and revealing the blue kefta underneath again. A slight frown touched his lips, while at her other side, Mal tried again to tug the sleeve of her kefta off._

_“Please, Alina, you don’t need this. You looked just fine in the brown.”_

_“You looked like a nothing,” the Darkling dismissed, “An opal being covered in common mud so no one would see it shine.”_

_“If you want to shine, then you’re doing the accessories all wrong,” Alina turned and saw the casually handsome grin of Nikolai Lantsov. He reached up to put something on her head, and she instantly felt weighted down. He turned her around, back to the mirror and whispered, “I told you you’d look amazing in a crown.”_

_Alina saw an elaborate half moon tiara, laden with shining diamonds, sapphires and rubies, perched atop her hair. It weighed heavily down, making her neck ache. Beside her, Mal scowled and snatched it off._

_“I can make another for you, if you’re feeling left out.” Nikolai snarked behind her, grabbing the crown back from Mal._

_Meanwhile, the Darkling, still standing slightly behind her said softly, “I believe I offered you a crown as well, Alina.” Another wave of shadow swept over her, and she was wearing a more traditional kokoshnik, all black with tracings of gold braid and a circle of pearls, matching with her kefta, once more black as night._

_“What about the crowns we made each other, Alina?” Mal was holding out something, and when she touched it, she saw herself in herself in the sarafan she wore to the festivals in town, a crown of wildflowers on her head._

_“Certainly a way to earn the people’s hearts, but this fabric is not suitable for a queen,” Nikolai commented, pulling on the dress and changing it to a much fancier sarafan, made of sumptuous silks and a shirt of the softest linen, with a crown of perfect white lilies atop her head._

_“She doesn’t need all that!” Mal argued from behind her, and as the voices rose behind her, Alina kept staring into the mirror, watching the clothing on her body morph again, and again, and again while she stood there, being dressed up like a doll. The Alina in the mirror cocked her head, then rolled her eyes._

_“You know this isn’t what we were looking for,” the mirror Alina said, looking quite pointedly at her._

_“No,” she agreed, letting the noise of the men fade away from her as she focused on her mirror self._

_“It wasn’t in the wardrobe anyway. You haven’t made it yet.”_

_The mirror Alina was right. She’d been looking for something that no one had made because no one had asked her. How hard was it to ask a woman what_ she _wanted wear anyways? No, they always had to put their preferences on her._

_“Exactly,” Mirror Alina said. “But you have the power to do it yourself now. So just do it.”_

_Yes, of course. She should just do it. And with that thought, she raised her hands and clapped them together._

_The clap rang out, heralding a blaze of light that enveloped the whole room, making everything disappear into a whiteness. Slowly, Alina let the light drift away, and stared at herself in the mirror._

_Her body was enveloped in a warm gold kefta, shimmering with each turn she made, decorated with intertwining white, black and silver embroidery. Her skin looked warm and bright, rather than sallow. Atop her head, on her flowing, snow white hair, was a small kokoshnik-like tiara, not glinting with gems, but ablaze with sunlight._

_“There you are,” she whispered to herself, reaching out to touch the image in the mirror. Behind her, she could see the three men’s faces, each showing their own emotion – dismay, admiration, calculation – but she didn’t care._

_“I told you,” her mirror self said smugly, as they admired each other. “Sometimes you just have to do it yourself.”_

A persistent knocking startled Alina awake. Groggily, she realized the sound was coming from her bedroom door.

“Come in,” she called, voice still raspy and ragged. The door swung open, revealing one of the maids – Sofiya? Alina was struggling to get her sluggish, sleepy brain back up and running – carrying a tea tray. Alina could smell the spicy fragrance of ginger tea and sat up a little straighter.

“I was told to bring this up to you, ma’am. I didn’t realize you were sleeping.”

“It’s alright, I could use some tea right now. Thank you very much.” The maid set the tray on little table next to Alina’s side of the bed and gave a little nodding bow. But then she remained standing there, hesitating for some reason.

“What is it Sofiya?”

“Master Matvey got back about an hour ago, ma’am. Miss Kseniya told him you were sick in bed, and he wanted to come up immediately, but she told him to let you sleep. Should I let him know you’re awake?”

Alina thought for a moment. Her feelings were still muddled by sleep, as the vestiges of her anger from this morning and her dream tried to fit themselves together and reconcile in her mind. Seeing Sofiya getting anxious beside her, she finally said, “Please tell him, if you see him.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The maid scurried out the door, pulling it sharply closed behind her. With a sigh, Alina pulled herself up to a more upright seat, criss-crossing her legs under the blankets before grabbing the tea tray to set on her lap. The cook had included a few of her soft, white rolls and a small bowl of strong broth, along with her famous ginger tea. All the usual accommodations for any invalid in Keramzin, guaranteed to fill them with comfort and strength.

Alina had time to pour out her tea, stir in a touch of sugar, and take a few spoonfuls of broth before Mal came. He opened the door quickly and decisively, but then hesitated on the threshold. Their argument still lingered in the air between them, twisting the love and concern that would normally flow so easily from one to the other. Alina decided to take pity on him and showed him a small smile. Instantly, she saw his shoulders loosen with relief, and the tension in the room eased. Mal closed the door behind him and came over to sit on the bed beside her.

“How are you? Kseniya told me you’d come home from a walk all weak and feverish; she even said Darya had to help you up the stairs.”

“I started feeling unwell when I was out walking.”

Her hoarse voice elicited a frown from Mal, and he reached out and placed a hand on her forehead. His hand was rough and warm on her skin, a familiar feel from years and years spent together. A gentle touch that had always brought Alina such comfort, even in the worst of times.

“You don’t feel too warm right now, but you sound terrible.”

“Thanks,” she said with a snort, turning back to her rich, delicious broth.

“Are you feeling better, though? Any weakness?”

“Not right now. I probably was just starting to get a little sick and then pushed myself too far out in the cold.”

“Maybe,” his frown lessened a little, before a new worry seemed to cross his face. “The people in town are planning to go out on the wolf hunt tomorrow. I’ll send Fyodor, Ivan and Marya with them, then I can stay here with you.”

“You don’t need to do that Mal. I’m already feeling much better after sleeping, and I’ll be perfectly fine in a few days.”

“But what if you start feeling weak again, or your fever spikes?”

“Then I’ll stay here in bed sleeping, and one of the dozen other adults in this house will bring me soup and tea,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Next to her, Mal looked a little put out at being so easily dismissed. With an internal sigh, she gently placed her hand over his, giving it a little squeeze.

“This is just a little cold. I will be fine in a day or two. Besides, I don’t want to take this hunt away from you. I know how much being in the woods and tracking game means to you.”

Alina did her best to keep the irony from creeping into her voice, and was apparently successful, as Mal just gave her a grateful smile and a returning squeeze of his hand.

“You are the best wife.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He leaned forward, and placed a kiss on her forehead, leaving a small warm spot. Pulling back, he rolled off the bed and headed towards the door.

“Do you need anything? More blankets? A book?”

Alina shook her head, sending him out the door with a smile on his face and a silent ‘I love you’ on his lips, leaving her to the peace of her soup and her thoughts.


	12. Part I, Chapter 11

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Alina said firmly, restraining herself from rolling her eyes at her husband. “Go, watch over the teenagers, and enjoy the woods.”

She’d risen with the sun, laying in bed and thinking while watching Mal’s steady breathing. He’d smiled when he woke and saw her staring, pulling her in for a kiss and embrace. The packs had been made ready the night before for their trek into the woods, so all he’d needed to do was throw on his old hunting clothes and meet Fyodor, Ivan and Marya downstairs at the door. Alina had insisted on following him downstairs and seeing him off at the door, again holding back the eyeroll when Mal insisted on her taking his arm the whole way down the stairs.

“Don’t worry Miss Anastasia, we’ll behave,” Ivan promised, not even trying to hold back his devilish smirk. Alina had to restrain a laugh as Fyodor scowled and elbowed the other boy in the side.

“Marya and I will behave,” he corrected, “And keep an eye on you.”

“You’ll all behave, or you’ll be locked up in the manor till next winter,” Mal warned, though Alina could also see him struggling to keep a straight face. “Now, start marching.”

“Yes sir!” they chorused before starting their way down the dirty, snow-covered road that lead out of the gates of Keramzin. Mal turned to Alina one last time.

“We’ll be back in no more than a week.”

“And everything will be just as you left it. Now go, don’t let them get too far ahead.”

“Yes ma’am.” He gave a small salute before turning to go, then paused, turning back one more time.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Alina watched his retreating back, and all four figures make their way out of the gate before returning to the house. The early hour meant many of the children were not awake yet, and Alina was able to make it down the hall to the kitchen without running into anyone else.

“Mistress Anastasia! How are you feeling?”

Kseniya was in the kitchen, along with a few other staff members, sitting down to tea and porridge. At her words, the cook had looked up, and Alina could feel her calculating gaze sizing her up, trying to determine if her medicinal food had worked and what else needed to be prepared.

“Better, though I’m still a bit tired. I’m planning to take an extra day to just sleep and recover. Could you make sure no one disturbs me in my room? I’ll come down if I need something.”

“No, don’t come down.” Kseniya protested, “Just give a ring, and I’ll make sure one of the maids comes up to you.”

“Fine, I’ll give a ring.” Alina hated the bell system and had tried to have it removed from the house but had been overruled by Mal and Kseniya. She turned to leave when the cook piped up from her place by the stove.

“Just you wait, Miss Anastasia. You haven’t eaten this morning, have you?”

She could feel the cook’s narrowed eyes focusing on her back before she even turned. Alina opened her mouth to say something, but never had the chance.

“Thought not. You just wait a moment, and I’ll send Irina up with you to carry the tray.” While talking, the cook had already signaled her assistant, who had grabbed a serving tray while the cook dished up a bowl of thick porridge to put on it. Quickly, a whole, hearty breakfast was assembled on the tray, complete with steaming pot of tea, ready to be carried up by the sturdy Irina.

“Thank you, Masha.” Alina kept her sighs to herself, knowing better than to argue with the strong-willed mistress of the kitchen. With Irina trailing behind her, she made her way slowly upstairs and into her bedroom. She sat on the bed, watched the assistant cook place the tray down on the nightstand, and then walk out, closing the door gently behind her. Waiting a few moments, Alina listened intently to make sure there were no sounds of footsteps in the hallway before jumping back out of her bed, a spare blanket and one of Mal’s pillows in hand.

Over at the door, she dropped the pillow on the ground, tucking it slightly under the door to fill the small open space between the bottom of the door and the door jam. The blanket she draped over the top of the door frame, tucking it into the little gap to keep it stuck in tight. Stepping back, she looked the whole thing over, making sure no cracks between the door and its frame were visible. Satisfied, she made her way back to the bed, settling herself on top of the blankets.

Alina let herself get comfortable, taking in deep, slow breaths. When she felt ready, she raised up her hands and called her light. It felt a bit easier now; whatever channels her power took to call the light felt more open, easier to rush down, like finally sprinting down a forest path that had previously been blocked by fallen trees and large stones. The light in her hand grew bigger and bigger as she pushed it out farther and farther, reaching into every corner of the bedroom. Soon, the room was awash in pure golden light, and Alina could feel the familiar exhilaration that only came from using her powers.

Switching tactics, she practiced pulsing the light, pulling it all the way back into her, then pushing it back out; in and out, in and out, a strobing rhythm of light moving in time with her breathing. It took more concentration and effort to manipulate her powers like this, but she kept at it as long as she could, forcing a few more pulses past her comfort, just to prove she could.

Slumping back a bit on her pillows, Alina couldn’t help the smile that took over her face.

“You’ve gotten stronger.”

“I know.”

She didn’t look over at him, instead calling a small ribbon of light that she set arcing across the room. He stepped closer, watching the light bounce back and forth before Alina called it back, letting the light sink into her skin, setting her hands aglow. Having finished her display, Alina reached over to the tray and poured herself a cup of tea, taking her time to stir in the sugar. When she finished and turned back, he had sat himself on the end of the bed, one leg folded up on the bedspread with ankle crossing the knee he left crooked over the edge.

His head was cocked slightly, as if he was studying her. She kept her eyes fixed on him, even as she took a sip of tea, waiting for him to break the silence between them. Finally, he spoke.

“You were made for the light, Alina.”

“I know,” she agreed, enjoying the chance to play his game; saying only the bare minimum, forcing him to talk if he wanted more from her. Her response elicited a raised eyebrow, and she could see him leaning slightly towards her.

“I remember you didn’t always think so.”

“Well, as you kept reminding me, I was very young,” Alina said with a dismissive shrug. “I also had people trying to force me to use _my_ light for their purposes and their fights.”

“The unfortunate truth of power, Alina, is that everyone wants it, and will try to take it. You would never have been given a chance to keep your power to yourself.”

She gave a small hum in response, not agreeing or disagreeing with him. The teacup was warm in her hand, and she took another sip, letting the silence sit between them. He was studying her, trying to divine the thoughts she was keeping close to her chest.

“Why did you want me to wear a black kefta when I first arrived at the Little Palace?”

He looked surprised at the question; Alina felt a small surge of triumph at having caught him off-guard. After a moment of recovery, he answered matter-of-factly, “Black was reserved for power. You were not like anyone else, and you deserved to be recognized as more than they were.”

“But black was your color.”

“I was also more than them.”

“You chose black to set yourself apart, even though you were a summoner.”

“Alina, you know we are more than simple Etherealki,” he replied, eyes flashing like steel. “No one else has the power of light and dark. No one else can use the Cut. None of them will see the centuries I have, and that you will.”

“True. And the black was a great aesthetic choice for a Shadow Summoner.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“There is power in appearances; a lesson I’m sure a young saint realized for herself.”

“Just like I’m sure there was power in draping the new Sun Summoner in your trademark black.”

He cocked his head again, and studied her, slight puzzlement crossing his features.

“I sought to mark you as unique among the Grisha at the Little Palace. But I suspect you have something else to accuse me of.”

“Black was the color for Darklings – that’s what everyone told me when I arrived at the Little Palace. You were putting me in black to mark me as yours; as a part of you, not my own unique thing.”

“And I recall you refused that black, insisting on Summoner’s blue. You said you didn’t want to stand out.”

“Well yes; I had just arrived at a new place with strange, new powers, and all of Ravka looking to me to solve their problems. Blending in seemed the right choice at the time.”

“At the time?” His voice raised slightly in question. “Are you saying you would choose differently now?”

“Yes.”

“You would take my black?” His voice had lowered in tone and he leaned in closer, keeping his eyes fixed on her with lips slightly parted.

“No.” He recoiled, as if struck, returning to his straight-backed, haughty pose. Alina could feel a smug smile in her heart at getting one over on him but kept her face cool and calm as she continued, “I would insist on a kefta of gold.”

A pause. Their gazes were locked. And then, surprisingly, he threw back his head and let out a surprised, genuine laugh. Alina let her suppressed smile rise up as she listened to him; such a rare sound of joy from a man who was perpetually draped in solemnity. When his laugh stopped, he looked back at her with an uncharacteristic pink on his cheeks and dancing light in his eyes.

“You are more than I ever could have anticipated, Alina. More unique and more powerful than any of us knew.”

“Maybe if you’d given me a chance, I could’ve shown you.” She pointed out. He smiled again, but this was not the same mirthful expression as before; this was layered with promise and admiration and a trace of longing.

“Oh Alina. My Alina. I will never presume to underestimate you again. And, in time,” his voice became husky and low, “I will drape you in cloth of gold.”

He lingered with her for a while, a silent shadow, while she finished of her porridge before it congealed into a cold, gelatinous mass. With the food done, she took her time drinking tea, idly creating ribbons of light that she sent twisting and dancing around the room. She could see him watching her summoned light with a kind of hunger and wondered if it was her power or his own that he longed for. After an hour of watching her play with the light and sip her ever-cooling tea, he left her, and Alina let herself sink back down into the bed.

She’d expected to be tired after such a long use of her light, but instead felt keyed up and energetic. Unfortunate, as she had stated publicly that she would be staying in her room all day resting; it wouldn’t do to try and sneak out and wander around the grounds when all the residents were expecting her to be tired and sick. Needing some sort of activity, Alina launched herself out of bed and started moving through the training exercises Botkin used to put her through; or, at least as much of them as she could recall.

Alina had never been the most physically adept of people, even at the height of her Grisha powers, when she had been brimming with vitality and healthy. In the ten or so years, she certainly hadn’t done any activity much more strenuous than walk around the countryside or haul one of the younger children upstairs to bed. There was a novelty in focusing just on her muscle strength, pushing herself through punches and lunges, twists and kicks. After a rigorous workout that left her drenched in sweat and feeling tired in a way she hadn’t for over a decade, Alina collapsed on top of the bed to catch her breath, and then wrinkled her nose. Of course. All that physical exertion had the unfortunate side effect of making her sweaty and smelly. Wonderful. Now she’d have to call one of the maids.

While Keramzin had been rebuilt with indoor plumbing – Nikolai had insisted on the convenience when he’d looked over the building plans, promising she’d thank him for the rest of her life – she would still need someone to heat the tank if she wanted hot water for her bath. Usually they started the fire for it in the evening before dinner so there would be plenty of hot water for the children’s baths, but it was too much work to keep it going all day. If she called for a hot bath now, someone would have to go and start it special just for her.

On the other hand, she was going to be stuck in here by herself all day, and she had no desire to smell and feel the sweat that was now drying on her skin and in her clothes. And a long, hot bath seemed an incredible luxury, with no one to disturb her soak or steal all the hot water.

Decided, she reached got up and yanked the bell-pull by the door, the one that would signal down to the kitchen that the mistress required someone to attend on her. Saints, she hated how haughty it was – as if she was a grand lady who must be waited upon for all her needs, and not a perfectly capable woman could take care of herself. But Kseniya had insisted.

While waiting, she suddenly realized she’d left the blanket draped over the door; something that would arouse suspicion, even if no one knew what to be suspicious about. Quickly, she yanked down the blanket and grabbed the pillow that had been stuffed under the door, flinging them back on the bed before the door opened.

“What can I do for you, Mistress Anastasia?” Kseniya was at the door herself, checking in on her. Alina could see the woman taking in her sweaty appearance, hair-plastered to her head, and slightly damp tunic top.

“I got a bit feverish during my sleep and wanted to take a bath to clean off. I hate to ask, but could we light the fire for the water tank now?”

“Of course,” Kseniya’s eyes softened, and she reached out to place a hand on Alina’s forehead. She obediently stood still, letting the woman take her temperature.

“It seems your fever has broken. How are you feeling?”

“Apart from sweaty and sticky?” Alina joked, coaxing a smile from Kseniya, “Much better. I think it was just a small winter fever. I should be fine by tomorrow.”

“Hmm, well, we’ll see.” Kseniya’s lips pinched a touch with skepticism, but let it be. “I’ll have the fire lit for the water; give it about a half hour before you try to run a bath. Do you need anything else?”

“Nothing for now. Though, would you mind taking the tray back down?”

“Of course.” And in a few moments, Alina was alone again in her room to wait.

The soak in the tub was long and luxurious, unlike any Alina had indulged in since they had taken over Keramzin. She brought a book of folk tales with her and, after thoroughly soaping and scrubbing herself, she relaxed into the water, reading stories of Baba Yaga and the many different Prince Ivans until the water had cooled.

Washed, dried, and feeling deliciously languorous, Alina fell into bed and indulged further in a short nap. By the time she awoke, the sun had passed noon, and her stomach was growling greedily. Again, she used the hated bell and had lunch sent-up; a thick potato soup with hearty bread and butter, and the ever-present ginger tea the cook insisted on. Hunger satiated, she passed the rest of the day with reading her book and practicing her summoning with ever increasing ease.

The next day Alina felt she could drop the pretense of illness and descended to join the rest of the household. She joined in her usual tasks of teaching, helping to lead a history lesson and then a drawing lesson for their art break, as well as reviewing the household accounts with Kseniya, reading at story time for the littlest ones, and spending some time in her studio. When night fell, made her way up to bed, snuggled up under the covers, and found herself unable to sleep.

Since losing her powers on the Fold, she hadn’t reverted to the sickly nature of her youth, but instead seemingly normal levels of vitality. A full day of work would leave her tired enough to fall asleep at night, with some days being more tiring than others. Exactly like all the other members of her household. Recovering her powers had brought back some small amount of energy; a useful aide when she was staying up late to practice her summoning by moonlight. And now, when she could feel the power flowing readily under her skin, sleep seemed completely unnecessary.

Giving a mental shrug, Alina decided not to fight against herself, and got out of bed. She grabbed the robe that was flung over a nearby chair and slipped it on before settling herself in her customary spot on the windowsill. The moon was three-quarters full, making the snow and trees outside shine silver against the blue-black sky. With a flick of her fingers, Alina called up a ball of her light, making it bounce up and down in her palm, up and down, again and again. A flick of her wrist elongated the ball into a beam, which she bounced off of a mirror, and then bent it to arc across the room.

“Where is your tracker?” He had settled into the windowsill opposite her, watching the twist and turn its way around the room.

“Off tracking.” She heard a small snort of amusement from him and grinned herself.

“Always with the snappy reply.”

“Oh, come on; I’m hilarious.”

“Quite amusing.”

They were quiet for a while, watching her light. Alina saw the hints of longing and hunger in his face, the same as she’d seen before, as his eyes tracked the movement of the light beam.

“Can you summon shadows?”

“Not presently, no,” he answered slowly. He raised a pale hand, twisting it in a particular way she recognized, but no shadows leapt from his hand; rather, it seemed to turn into shadow itself, pulling apart like sooty smoke before coming back together to form that familiar hand.

“I am more shadow than substance, myself.”

“But you couldn’t do that before, right? I remember you disappearing _into_ shadows, but you didn’t – I mean, you didn’t really _become_ shadows. Did you?”

“No,” he agreed. “As you found a way to bend light to render yourself unseen, I was similarly able to bend shadows. But I was always there, a living, breathing person.”

“So, what are you now? Where do you go when you turn into shadows?”

“I don’t go anywhere, or at least nowhere I can see. When I can no longer hold myself here, I scatter. I can still think, though it’s harder than when I am as I am now. I can still sense myself, though it feels like being stretched out. And I can still sense you, Alina.”

“Me?”

“You, your power. As I’ve told you again and again, like calls to like.” He paused, fixing her with his silver eyes, intense and sparkling in the moonlight. “For a long while, I had barely any sense of what I was, who I had been. I could just feel myself drifting. And then a light, _your light_ Alina, broke through the endless expanse, and I had a beacon to light my way.”

“Is that what death is, then? Endless drifting?”

“Who can say?” he said with a shrug, “I’m not aware of anyone else I can ask to compare stories.”

Alina grew thoughtful, absently twirling her light around her fingers. David had also said there were no records of Grisha bringing anyone back to life, or any formula of Morozova’s that could restore life.

“What about Ilya Morozova? Baghra said he brought her sister back to life after she accidentally killed her. Was there anything in his journals about how he did that, or what she saw after death?”

He was silent, and for the first time, Alina felt a tension between them. She could see his jaw muscles tighten, and when he spoke, his voice was the cool, distant tone she remembered from their first meeting.

“I’m surprised Baghra shared that story with you. She was stubbornly resistant to sharing any of her personal recollections of Morozova.”

“I don’t think she wanted to tell me,” Alina explained. “When we were planning our search for the Firebird, she tried to warn me off, telling me that the power would be more than I could bear.”

“An ironic remonstration, coming from her.”

“But you spent years looking for all of Morozova’s journals. Were there any you missed, or that may have been destroyed, that might have told how he was able to resurrect her?”

“If there were, there is no way to know,” his voice was quiet, reflective. “Baghra had recovered them during my adolescence, and kept them close for some time, refusing to show them to me. Some many months later, she caught me sneaking them out of her rucksack and declared they were too dangerous to be read. She swore she would get rid of them.”

“Did you stop her?”

“No. She disappeared, and apparently spent the next decade or so scattering the journals around the world. Even with all her words of warning, she was unable to destroy them.”

“She just abandoned you?” Alina felt her mouth gape in shock; she had known Baghra to be mean and rude, but to be so callous as to just abandon her son?

“I was already a young man, Alina,” his lips twisted in amusement. “You yourself joined the army at seventeen.”

“Yes, but I was never alone! Even as an orphan, I had Mal with me. We made sure we went into training together, and then were deployed together. I wasn’t just left to try and survive on my own.”

“I had essentially been alone for a long time before that.”

Silence fell again, sad reflections dampening the mood between them. Hesitantly, Alina reached out, pausing midway when she remembered he wouldn’t be able to feel her touch. She would just have to comfort him with her words.

“I’m sorry, Aleksander.” He looked up at the sound of his name, and she thought she understood the hunger a little better. How sad to not have anyone there to happily call out your name when they saw you approach, no one to whisper your name in the dark. “No one should have to feel abandoned like that. You shouldn’t have been left alone.”

“Eternity is lonesome.”

Which is why he wanted me, Alina thought to herself. No wonder he held on to her so desperately, no matter how hard she fought and struggled against him. After centuries of loneliness, she was a promise that he could face eternity with someone at his side. The hunger for connection and companionship, that was greater than any other want. And she would never have to experience it, because his life would stretch alongside hers, far into the distant future, possibly even to the end of time. She would never have to be alone.

“I suppose it’s a good thing then, for me, that I can’t seem to get rid of you.” She finally said, trying to make her voice, her words sound casual and flippant. But then she caught his eyes, saw the spark in them, and the hint of a smile turn up his lips. And, for once, he didn’t insist on getting the last word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really plan for fluff over the Valentine's Day weekend, but I guess that's how it ended up. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. I appreciate each and everyone one of you.


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